


Lucifer

by Dunblak_Vizgoth



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 80,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunblak_Vizgoth/pseuds/Dunblak_Vizgoth
Summary: Summary: Do not be fooled by the cover, this is not a happy story. It is a tale of demonic corruption and terrible woe. The loss of reality and birth of a nightmare.Beywyn Ahriman Erskine is snatched from an ordinary town in Kansas and fell to the depths of Hell. Darkness awaits him and many a terrible thing that will change him forever.We often delude ourselves with thoughts of fantasy and oddly imagined worlds afar. Where fanciful things become reality. But what if they did? A place where dragons soar, elves guard the woods, and men battle with swords and oaths of fealty. But this is no fairytale, for with all the delights of these possibilities comes the darkest desires. Those thoughts that press upon us in the dead of night. For one cannot have the highest of pleasures without incurring the attentions of darker things.





	1. Beneath a Grassy Knoll

**Author's Note:**

> This is a darker story and not to be read casually. Ties in with Cyberpunk, Urbania, and Other stories of ours
> 
> Most is unedited, sorry. =(

Beneath a Grassy Knoll

 

 

Dunblak_Vizgoth

 

Copyright 2017

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

This is a fantastical work of fiction depicting violence as well as fictional sexual encounters. All depicted parties are consenting and over the age of 18. Names, places, characters, and circumstances are either product of the author’s imagination or otherwise used fictitiously. Actual places, people living or dead, and/or events are coincidence.

Theological or pan-theological concepts are works of the author’s imaginations.

 

 

(WARNING THIS BOOK CONTAINS: fictitious imaginations of religious/spiritual concepts or beings, angels, demons, gods and goddesses, fantastical creatures of surprising variety, graphic elements of torture, violence, nudity, sexual encounters of all types and genders, tentacles and male impregnation, ovipositors and egg implantation, mental manipulation, mind break <or is it?>, demonic corruption/transformation, femboy, master-slave/pet relationship, parasites, pegging, sexual toys of a fantastical nature, blowjobs, impossible size, orgy, demonic contracts, prostate massage, hermaphrodite (futanari), murder and ritual display of corpse (because a point needed to be made), and enslavement. Readers be warned this is not a book to be taken lightly, however, we encourage you to enjoy it for what it is. Despite all its faults and oddities.)

 

 

 

 

<Chapter1>

“Damn government pigs! They spoil the soil, they pollute the water, they tax us under our noses, and they won’t give us a damn moment of quiet!” Beywyn Ahriman Erskine ranted with a mouth full of cereal.

Outside the five room house occupied by what remained of the Erskine family, workers and builders moved back and forth as ants constructing their mound. The sound of power tools and jackhammers was only muted a little by the walls of the home.

“Cursing at them won’t make them go away bro. Trust me, we tried!” Rivne shouted from her room before coming into the kitchen with her twin sister in tow.

“We even tried flirting with a couple of them but to no avail.” Raven gracefully putting her hand to her brow in mock drama.

Beywyn smirked and looked lovingly upon his younger sisters. They were two peas in a pod, identical twins in almost every way. The black haired maidens shared the wild beauty of their mother as well as her fiery spirit and will. He nodded to himself and his mind wandered toward memories forgotten with time.

Alistair Ahriman Erskine, their father, was telling fortunes at a carnival when he met their mother Tiffany. Or at least that’s the story their mother told. Against the wishes of her family she and Alistair traveled with the carnival crowd from west coast to the east, even stopping in Europe at points. Erskine was deeply mythic in his beliefs. And while their mother didn’t wholly share all of his beliefs she agreed with him on most points. After a few years Beywyn was born and Alistair felt that it was time to settle down. He opened a magic rock shop in Colorado Springs, hoping to fall into similar crowd. While business was on the rise his health dropped. When Tiffany Erskine was a few weeks pregnant with the twins Alistair collapsed one night while he was closing up the store. He died on the floor with nobody noticing him until the next day.

Their mother traveled down from the mountains and settled in the rolling, wooded hills of Kansas. Beywyn helped his mother at home whenever she wasn’t at work at the local flower shop. Those were better days. A few months later the twins were born prematurely and their mother never recovered. Beywyn worked odd jobs where he could and his mother’s family sent money, what little good it did. When Beywyn had reached sixteen their mother passed away, leaving him only slightly prepared for the world.

A blink of his eyes and Beywyn shooed away the darkness from his mind and gazed lovingly upon the lights of his life. “I don’t suppose the both of you are done with your homework?”

“No.” The twins said in unison, each trying to suppress an identical smile.

The older brother let out a sigh as he got up from the table and deposited his bowl in the small metal sink. “Well make sure to finish it up tonight, I got business to attend on Main before cutting down a couple of dead trees at Mr. McPhersons.”

“Oh so you’re headed over to Mom’s flower shop.” Rivne began.

“Going to give your ‘respects’ to Tracy Manning?” Raven finished and the sisters looked at each other knowingly.

“Alright you two, I should be back by nine tonight and I’ll be looking over your homework to see if it’s all in order. Have it finished by then I mean it!” Beywyn said over his shoulder as he opened the front door.

He barely made out a “Yes Sir!” before walking through the short lawn onto the cracked, sun parched sidewalk. Beywyn knew that his sisters were teasing him about the multiple visits to the flower shop their mother used to work at. It wasn’t awkward enough that he had to be the one to give them the ‘bird and bees’ talk but ever since then they had developed a habit of trying to insinuate his involvement with any attractive girl.

Although he appreciated the thought his sisters didn’t really understand his own preferences that well. Beywyn was curiously attracted to both sexes, personalities and appearances withstanding of course. He genuinely was attached to the idea of falling for a man but also deeply wanted to court a woman. Being bisexual in Kansas wasn’t exactly acceptable in this day and age, but Beywyn wasn’t bothered simply because he didn’t bother anybody else about it.

As to the attention he attracted himself Beywyn couldn’t say with surety it was unfounded. The young man stood a striking six feet with lithe, compact musculature overlaid over graceful bone. It gave him a hauntingly beautiful look, as it did not seem to matter whether his gender was male or female. His angular face was soft in the right places to be considered girlish and his dark, auburn hair was sure to strike almost any girl with envy. Blue-grey eyes twinkled with merriment at everything they perceived beneath a firm brow. Most would take the confidant walk of the eighteen year-old as arrogance but all people are more than meets the eye. Beywyn had his fair share of scuffles and fights, spending a few years learning from a Shaolin monk his father and mother knew. Those same eyes that glittered with happiness could harden to stone in the span of seconds.

The loose legs of his blue jeans wisped as he took long strides toward Main. He stuck his thin fingers in his pockets, thankful that he did not have to blow on them to keep them warm. It was the little things that most often made this life worth plodding on through. The warm sun overhead, the cool breeze on his lightly tanned skin, the scents of the land carried on the wind, and a family and a place to call home. These things were what he loved.

Beywyn smiled to himself, his thin lips forming what would be viewed as a smirk but it was his smile none the less. _Who am I kidding? Rivne and Raven will be fine. Besides, they got three more years of high school until they graduate! What’s the worst that could happen?_

A sudden thought stopped him dead in his tracks. _Unless they get boyfriends._

Groaning from the pit of his stomach, Beywyn rubbed his forehead. This was a whole other set of problems he had not considered. And ones he was going to have to look into personally.

The Keen sneakers he had gotten at a garage sale scratched lightly against the concrete as he started walking again. Another battery of hisses and mechanical roars started up just to his left. As long as he could keep from strangling the government ass hat who was making construction sound like a Metallica concert Beywyn decided that he just might get around to everything else.

From beneath his feet a loud THUMP seemed to echo its way through the ground. Beywyn stopped. The ground had never shifted before. Earthquakes were almost unheard of in Kansas.

Beywyn frowned. _So what was it that I just felt?_

Then he felt it again, a strong double thumping beneath his feet. Cautiously he knelt down and placed his hands on the rough concrete. It was growing stronger and more evident, and felt strangely familiar. Something that should not have been there. Should not have been something that shifted the earth underneath.

Sucking in a breath Beywyn froze. He remembered what the feeling was, why it was so familiar and odd at the same time. It felt like a heartbeat.

There was another loud THUMP and the world collapsed inward. He felt like he was underwater for a few seconds, drifting through thickened atmosphere for a few more before everything crashed into a black inferno.

 

▲

 

It was hot. Oh so very hot, but as it was as cold as it was hot.

Beywyn stirred, foul aroma’s besieging his senses. As the young man opened his eyes he gasped in awe and horror. An expansive cavern, the ceiling thousands of feet up, stretched out around him. Brooks of molten lava swirled this way and that. Clefts darkened the colossal stalactites like cavities in dragon’s teeth. Strange colored gasses wheezed out of glowing craters, and faintly in the distance wails of terror could be heard among the stone forest of curving stalagmites.

Glowing amber eyes shadowed a hiss as a large, horned serpent eyed the unexpected intruder from one of the many dark alcoves in the ceiling. It opened its mouth and let out a large breath of purple fumes, confused and intrigued by the form below. The serpent’s supernatural vision perceived the glowing of a soul, but the beast was puzzled that the soul was still bound inside a form of flesh. 

The serpent stretched its mouth and let out another breath of noxious purple hinted with iridescent green. A clawed, scaly hand gently stroked the serpents head and a pair of yellow eyes joined the serpent’s amber ones. The newcomer also found the sight intriguing.

The human appeared dazed and confused, inspecting this new environment. The yellow eyes blinked and the owner stepped further into the light.

A demonic figure with crooked teeth and notched horns rubbed his thumb over his favored whip while stroking the horned serpent. The Belial’s scales mingled with mange fur at his shoulders and the talons of his avian feet clicked against the firm rock ledge. His skewed yellow eyes watched the young human male unevenly but keenly. This would surely be a worthy gift to his Lord Balthat. Unclaimed mortals were never allowed to enter the Infernal Plane, at least not with their bodies still attached. But if one had wandered in somehow, unknowing of where he was or how he had traveled here, then he could be exploited.

The Belial huffed proudly, and stroked the serpent’s horns as a reward. Lord Belthal would know what to do with the mortal human, all he had to do now was but inform the Demon Lord and watch over his prize.

Pulling the stopper from a small flask at his side he whispered a few crafted words. A glowing, ethereal wisp came out of the flask and wound its way up his arm. The Belial twisted the stopper back on the flask and waited for the little spirit to reach eye level. The blob of smoke formed into a tormented face with hollow eyes and howling silently in open-mouthed pain.

He issued a few commanding words to the condemned servant, emanating a little magic to enforce the Belial’s influence over the being. The smoke gave a whispered moan and whisked away to inform Lord Belthal of the Belial’s report.

The demon watchman nodded and looked back down on the strange sight. A feminine Nightwish was swirling about the boy, groaning and whispering nothings. The ethereal aberration would not do any harm to the human other than confuse him, the Belial decided. Now all there was to do was to watch, and wait for the Nephilim and his men.

 

▲

 

Beywyn shooed the ghostly woman away and tried to grip where exactly how he had gotten to this strange cavern. Retracing his memories Beywyn thought about the strange thumping in the sidewalk and the construction that was supposed to have been completed a month earlier, wondering if the two could be related.

“But they are my sweet thing.” The haunting voice of the woman came back as ghostly arms entwined around his hips and sought to tease his inner thighs. “Mortals are so clever, and yet so ignorant of the architecture of their creations.”

He clenched his teeth against a groan as the ghostly fingers seemed to pass through his clothes to tease his flaccid shaft. _The construction site? That’s impossible. They said that the project wasn’t finished yet. Why would they lie?_

The cold, ethereal fingers smoothed over his balls while a thumb caressed his cock head. “Why does any mortal lie sweet thing? To gain something for themselves of course.”

Beywyn broke away from the smoky essence of the strange woman, confused thoughts crowding his mind. “Doesn’t make any sense though. Doesn’t make any sense.”

He did not notice the large shadow, or the disappearance of the Nightwish until he was surrounded. Ten or twelve demonic creatures, each armed and garbed in barbaric custom, eyed him with glowing eyes. A small swarm of imp-like beings hovered over the others on rapid beating wings, hissing strange words and jabbing with twisted spears. A growling tone echoed and the larger demons split ranks in front of Beywyn to allow a taller devil into the circle.

This one was larger than the others in every way, standing a full two feet or so taller than Beywyn and a barrel chest that was fused together with muscle. Slit eyes glowed green and red under a black brow. The sound of the monster grinding his teeth together, boar-like tusks dripping with saliva, almost made the young man shudder. The demon’s lower body was that of a lizard. A notched broadsword was held loosely in his hands. All of them stank of dried sweat and rotting meat.

There were a few grumbles in foreign tongues and heaved chuckles among the smaller warriors and Beywyn noticed a few stirring bulges in their skin loincloths. He grimly clenched his jaw and settled ever so slightly into a loose pose. One foot slightly behind the other with one arm pointing at the ground in front, he tried to make it seem like a natural gesture.

The demons howled with laughter, nudging each other and cackling from crooked toothed mouths. The apparent leader did not seem to think it that funny, eyeing the Beywyn and sizing him up.

One of the warriors behind Beywyn got over confident and jabbed at his back with a stone club. Beywyn saw the leader’s eyes shift ever so slightly and form into a disapproving look, a sign he had been looking for.

The young man pivoted to the side, turning and catching hold of the club while he did; and thrusting a hard open-palm into the side of the demon’s jaw. There was a crack and Beywyn withdrew his hand with a hiss, letting go of the club as well. Demon skin felt like a heated hotplate.

The warrior stumbled back slightly, confused by the fluid and sudden attack. He recovered, rubbing where his jaw had been hit and growled angrily. Things grew tense as the warriors murmured amongst each other, shifting their assorted weapons back and forth.

Knowing he would not have the advantage of surprise as he did last time, Beywyn readied to feint a strike at one then bash his way through another. He never got the chance.

The leader barked an order to the others and the warriors obediently took up a defensive position, surrounding Beywyn in a relatively impassable wall of weapons. Beywyn turned to see the leader advance slowly toward him. Whomever and whatever this man-beast was he clearly had seen combat. His eyes were keen but his posture was loose and at ease. Beywyn felt destructive intent from all of them mingled with bloodlust. The young man had no choice but to try to literally punch his way though.

Beywyn waited until the larger demon-like beast came within striking distance before lunging, throwing a solid fist where he hoped a floating rib would be.

Quicker than his appearance portrayed the leader side stepped and had come upon Beywyn before the young man realized that the demon had moved. The hot metal pommel of the broadsword slammed into Beywyn’s temple and the world spun on its end.

Oddly he thought he could hear the voices clearer now as he sank to his knees. The leader said something about keeping him alive for the Lord. And all his followers said amen. Beywyn hardly noticed as they bound him in chains. All that he saw before the black haze overtook his vision was the imps lifting him up by the chain ends and flying him above the warrior band of demons.

 

▲

 

Seething presence in his mind, like a centipede crawling around inside his head, awoke Beywyn.

_Yes, an excellent specimen indeed! So full of life, and down here of all places!_ An old ragged voice rasped heavily at the edge of his conscious. _Perfect. Perfect in every way. Long have I awaited a moment, an opportunity such as this! And look how perfectly he landed into my bosom! Like a falling flower from above._

It was hotter than before, almost insufferably hot. When Beywyn tried opening his eyes he thought they would dry out in their sockets. Surprisingly they did not. His entire being felt sweaty and clammy. He could almost smell his own perspiration mixed with the odor of burnt hair.

Weakly he tugged at his arms to find himself kneeling with his arms stretched to either side by chained manacles. The rough iron had rusted long ago and the dust bit into his wrists. A thick, metal collar was noosed around his neck and the chain was pulled taunt somewhere above him. Gritting his teeth as the pain receptors in his knees kicked in he noted that the cracked black slab he was on was even hotter than the guy he landed a punch on. And around it a sulfurous stream of bubbling black tar that seemed to seep endlessly into a pool of molten magma that lay before him, giving the small black space little of its angry light.

He could see no ceiling except darkness and no end to the room beyond what the small pool lit up. The smells played havoc with his senses and the rap he had gotten on the side of his head still buzzed inside his eyes.

_Welcome to your new home pet._ The voice pierced his mind again, digging in like a needle. _Oh, shush, shush, it will be alright little boy. My sweet little boy. I will make everything better. All you need is to be a good little pet. Understood?_

Beywyn’s head jerked sideways in pain as he gasped for relief. Was it not enough that he had landed in the middle of nowhere and been within an inch of being rape trained by a pack of demon barbarians?

A spiteful rumble quaked out of his chest. “What do you want?”

Pain came back, from both sides this time, screwing slowly into the back and front. Amidst screaming his head off Beywyn vaguely wondered if there were actual spikes in his head. The twisting stopped and he was left gasping and panting for breath, the feeling of his head being painfully invaded a constant throb. Then it began again. However, the invisible screws were slowly being pulled out, yanking every pain receptor apart with them. Beywyn screamed in agony until his lungs were hoarse and dry but the long needles still had further to go. It felt as if his soul was being pulled apart.

_Yes. Exactly like that, pet._ The voice said again. _Good pets don’t talk back to their master now do they? DO THEY?_

Beywyn’s skin felt like it was being ripped off his body, but he could not feel the blood. Invisible hands squeezed at his lungs and stomach. Between gasping for breath and dry heaving Beywyn felt himself growing week. His neck was stiff as a board and his mouth hung agape in an empty scream, saliva pooling behind his teeth and dripped down to the hot earth. Hot tears welled in his eyes as they sought to roll back into his skull.

His body told him to give, to roll over, to stop this self-abuse, and his mind told him that all he had to do was to say yes. But Beywyn hung onto the fleeting stubborn will not to obey. To resist for the mere purpose of not giving his unknown persecutor the satisfaction of success.

There was a bubbled hum and the pain ceased. _Rest now pet, and know this. That what you have once known is no more. Your home, your kin, your own life has left you. You now belong to me, body and soul. And I will do with you what I please._

A presence faded from the room and Beywyn sobbed like a broken man. Chest quaking, and drooling and crying like a loon he was left in the boiling darkness alone. Every fiber and feeling of his being shrieked in pain. Yet there was an unnatural warmth, and longing for more.

Beywyn whimpered softly to himself as the wear on his mind dragged him toward unconscious. “I want to go home.”

_You are home my pet._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<Chapter2>

Prideful chuckles awoke Beywyn to the familiar position, kneeling and arms splayed out in chains with the only improvement being his metal collar was looser than it had been before. He opened his eyes to see a being of undeniable evil.

A tall humanoid with a human’s torso and arms, a long and spiked rat tail, and dragon’s legs. The form was slightly muscular but unnaturally thin. His thin lips stretched over his gaunt face in a needle toothed smile. Beady, slit red eyes leered hungrily under bushy salt and pepper brows and receding silver quills of hair on a wrinkled scalp. Spiraling horns curved out his forehead, each growing to the side

The thing stalked forth clad in nothing but a moth-eaten robe and loincloth, both of which would have been an intrinsic deep purple. From a thick leather belt around his waist pouches and bags of various sizes hung with jangling keys, various icons and symbols, as well as flasks and vials of luminescent liquids.

He spoke in a strange tongue, not the high screeching of the imps or the guttural growling of the warriors but a dignified tone. The voice seemed to seep into Beywyn’s mind as English. “You look well rested my pet. That is good! You were resilient to my own mind earlier, at least more resilient than most of your pathetic race of waste-eaters. Although, you did not acknowledge me nor did you answer my question. But no matter, you will understand soon.”

The demon flicked his long-fingered hand in a dismissive manner while he reached into his long sleeve with the other. “As such your body will need to be more sturdy than that of a mortal.”

He withdrew a small syringe filled with blue-black fluid and flicked the vial. “Incubi blood. A wonderful thing. I requested it from one of the most beautiful Incubi I have ever seen, Nhazayil Thrornin of the noble House of Dinylus Sköll and trained at the Oxpheratus Conservatoire of Promiscuity. Lord Adlaytho had him danced for us at Prince Nyrathlotet’s coronation and saw how stuck I was by his servant’s beauty that Lord Adlaytho allowed me to request some of Nhazayil Thrornin’s blood.”

Clamping his long fingers around Beywyn’s head and jerking it to the side, the demon expertly plunged the needle into the young man’s neck. The monster depressed the vial until it was empty and withdrew the plunger a little, drawing out red human blood into the drained barrel before emptying it again.

Chuckling at the gasping human as he withdrew the needle, the demon snuck the syringe back within the folds of his robe. “In addition to its remarkable regenerative abilities upon mortals it also has a subtle aphrodisiac effect that Incubi and Succubi are known for. It generally does not take effect right away but within a few hours the host will feel aroused. This is due to the cancerous nature of the blood’s owner. Demonic blood was never meant to cross with that of a mortal. The Incubi blood slowly assimilates and leeches off energy from the host, turning him into a lesser Incubus himself.”

Beywyn groaned and shook his head in an attempt to relieve the sudden onset of dizziness. What the beast said made fractional sense to him. Father had warned him of falling prey to tempting spirits, often citing old Italian demonologies and sacred Catholic texts. Incubi were supposed to be demons of temptation and adultery, typically impregnating women in their dreams which manifested in a physical pregnancy. But that was only according to religious tradition.

“Religious tradition indeed my pet, very observant of you. And very intuitive as well. You are a perfect little jewel are you not?” A bonny finger traced up Beywny’s soft neck and down his feminine jaw to the chin. “But I will instruct you in the organization of Hell’s ranks and beings later pet. For now we will work on obedience. The blood should have a decent hold of your body at the moment so we will begin. As I recall you never gave me an answer. Do good pets talk back to their master?”

Those slit eyes flicked to look behind Beywyn and the monster nodded. Long needles jabbed into Beywyn’s big toe and were forced up the underside of the foot, parallel to the phalangeal bones.

He gritted his teeth and stared back at his tormenter. _Ain’t no way I’m giving in that easily bastard. You want to break me, you’re going to have to do it the hard way._

Smiling even wider the demon’s eyes glittered with glee. “If you say so. My pet.”

A second needle pierced his next toe. Beywyn strained to keep from screaming as he felt the metal pin slide between the skin and bone at the arch of his foot. Then the third one was inserted.

With pain mounting Beywyn gasped. “You’ll never beat me. You will never be rid of me!”

The fourth needle was inserted slowly, followed by the fifth. Each screwed in, and rubbing excruciatingly at the nerves and bone of Beywyn’s feet.

“Foolish human. Even if your spirit could stand against my own without ceasing into nothing, your body and mind cannot keep up. You may as well give up now, but then again you still have not been punished in full. I believe you owe me a debt of some accord, do you not?” The demon stood and exited into the dark. “Be sure to pierce each joint as I instructed. And afterward start the removal of his lower intestines, the blood of Nhazayil Thrornin should have infused sufficiently for regeneration.”

There was a low, guttural voice that answered and more needles where inserted. One in the side of Beywyn’s knee under the kneecap, another piercing down from the front and between the femur and tibia, and the third rammed straight in between the two leg bones to poke against the back of the kneecap.

The scared and suffering Beywyn tried to hold against the pain and the fear that only more would continue. He tried to lock it away in his chest. But as more needles were jabbed in between his hip joints and stirred, he could not help but scream at the darkness.

 

 

<Chapter2>

_What day is it?_ The thought sluggishly crawled through Beywyn’s barely conscious mind as he gasped for precious breath. _Is it day outside? Is there even an outside? He said this is hell, that demon did. The one who torments me. And who offers me relief. He who stripped me of my comforts and then offers comfort._

The naked young man shook and gurgled, no longer kneeling but held aloft by his chains. His ankles tied to his wrists so that he looked like a mother trying to give birth. One of the Imps tending him wiped up the blood from the incision the last one had made and began stitching up the hole where Beywyn’s kidney had once been. Another was groping his insides and snickering as the human boy gasped when he squeezed Beywyn’s stomach.

Blood weeping out of the new needles inserted left to right through his areolae was left unattended and the imps occasionally pulled on them to insert another behind the former. It burned, all of it. But it felt good. And he wanted more. Each time the Imps grabbed at him and pinched his erect but abused nipples, he strained not to arch into their teasing grasps.

_Cannot give in to this pain. I’ll lose myself if I do. I must stay strong, I must keep my head above the water. If I don’t it will be the end of me._ Beywyn bit his lip against a gasp before sucking in noxious air. _How do you know it will end you?_

The thought caught him by surprise. It was his, but at the same time he did not know where it had come from. Or where it had gone. However he had more pressing matters at hand.

His cock was pierced as well, a ball and chain weighing at least a half-pound connected all the way to the base threatened to tear his man parts clean off. Imps had also stuck small, vibrating beads into his urethra all the way back to the point that Beywyn thought they would pop into his balls. They made him twitch and groan through gritted teeth, and pant like a bitch in heat. He was on the knife edge of pleasure but held back by pain reinforced with will.

Beywyn bit the corner of his mouth hard enough to draw blood as he closed his eyes and his head lolled back. _Can’t lose. Not yet. Not yet. I won’t lose. Can’t lose. Not to him._

_It wouldn’t be so bad would it?_ The conjecture popped up again. _The pain would end. And he would take care of us. Face it bud, we’re out of our depth here._

_No! I have to hold on!_

_For what? Him to go through his entire selection of torture techniques? We have no concept of time or space in here. We don’t even know where here is! If you want to hang on then fine. But be subtle about it or we’re going to cease to be ourselves. _Beywyn realized then that it wasn’t so much a foreign thought that had been plaguing him, but his own mind playing devil’s advocate.

But could he really do it? Could he somehow hide ‘myself’ somewhere? Beywyn bit his lip again, mind trying to comprehend the entirety of the possibility. He had heard of shamans and mystics going into comas. Even shell-shocked soldiers who receded into their own minds, seeming almost dead to the world around. But could he really self-initiate such a thing and be able to come back from it? How much of self would be left?

“You are a stubborn one my pet. But then that will only make you more luscious when you lay at my feet.” Blue-flamed ashes wreathed in smoke swirled on the throne before solidifying into the hideous demon. “My Implysh are quite clever fellows, a bit keener of mind than the others if I do say so myself. They can guess my intentions before I can give the order. Now then. It seems the preliminaries have been made and the Imps wore you into the beginning stages quite well. Yes, very clever. I think it is time to move toward the firmer pleasures.”

The Imps lowered the batter human to the floor and unshackled his arms and legs, while one of them fluttered over to the beast to hand his master a sharpened metal bar. Beywyn had little time to comprehend he was now on the floor when the demon smashed his bar into the frail human’s ribs with a loud crack.

Beywyn tried to lift his arm in defense and scream at his enemy to no avail. Those long, bony fingers pierced into the unbroken side of Beywyn’s ribcage and quickly tore out four ribs from the vertebra. He paused for a second before plunging his hand back in, yanking his hand out with Beywyn’s heart in his palm. The poor mortal man looked back in horror and disbelief, pain held stubbornly in place by a mere remnant of will. The heart beat erratically with veins, arteries, and viscera still slightly attached.

_No!_ Beywyn’s mind almost slipped then. _What are you doing? It’s mine. Please give it back._

The demon grinned. This one would be a very good pet indeed. But for now, back to the business at hand. Beywyn reached back slowly, feeling pain through his chest and dryness on his exposed heart. The beast crushed it without a second thought and tossed it onto Beywyn’s back as he collapsed.

It did not matter, the Incubi blood flowing through the boy’s veins would regenerate almost anything now. “It is time. Prepare my pet for the insemination process, and make sure to taint the human blood with Lord Diluvius’s Lieutenant, Ashlesa Vuka Oxpheratus of House Dinylus Sköll! I wish to see the effect Succubi blood has on a mortal when he has already been tainted by that of an Incubus.”

Beywyn barely recalled being dragged elsewhere, only feeling empty and on the verge of certain death. When his mind had sufficiently recovered from the shock of losing a major organ he recognized familiar pricks in his back. Beywyn looked down to see that he was strapped to an armed chair and what was behind him filled him with dread. Even he was not foolish enough to mistake the large spheres and carefully attached cords flowing with red liquid.

He squirmed and bucked in the chair, yanking at it to get out. But it was no use, his muscles had atrophied even under his hourly death aerobics. Beywyn could not break free.

“It is all right pet, what you see behind you is what you want is it not? Human blood?” Beywyn whipped his head around to see the large humanoid standing cross-legged by a small hole in the dim cavern wall.

This room was not like his previous cell. It was damp here and reeked of algae, sickening moss clinging to moist stalactites and stalagmites. And there was something malignant stirring inside the hole, something that had his tormentor on the brink of laughter. That was when Beywyn heard the slight undulation in the air. A near silent, wet chirp that did not come from the mouth of any creature he knew.

“Since you seem to do well with the less brutal punishment I have decided to take it up a notch. Being intravenously fed human blood will fend off the cancerous advance of the Incubi blood in your system. You will be partially restored to human, just as you were when I gave you that first shot.” The demon stalked slowly forward.

“This will make it easier for your breeding with the Garbock. The remaining Incubi blood will help you regenerate for several batches of hatchlings. The eggs will be most likely be inserted into your stomach through your mouth and anus. Once they hatch they will only feast upon your heart, lungs, kidneys, stomach, and liver for nutrients before burrowing out through your belly. But by that time it should look more like an explosive pregnancy rather than sudden burst of hatchling Garbocks.”

“Must have right blood. Blood may not match.” Beywyn weakly slurred.

It was all he could manage. The Incubi blood did give him regenerative powers but it harassed his efforts to collect his thoughts. Or for that matter form proper sentences, in his mouth and his mind.

“Oh do not worry little pet.” The beast hissed, leaning close to Beywyns ear so that his liquorish breath teased the soft skin. “My Belial warriors collected the proper type, my Nephilim Arkrinas made sure of that. But more importantly, the remaining Incubi blood in you will grow with each passing day and should make your breeding quite pleasurable my pet. The sexual energy the Incubi blood draws from the breeding will keep you alive. Enjoy it while you can, and know that if you want it to stop all you have to do is ask.”

The word impregnation barely got into Beywyn’s skull before the demon had unhooked him from the intravenous tubes and kicked him into the hole. The young man’s screams became drowned out by the instant flurry of hisses, screeches, and the slimy mass of moving tentacles.  

“We will meet again my pet, when we will change out your blood again.” Muffled cries and gurgles answered the demon as he walked away to other duties he needed to see to.

In truth the demon had not expected the human to be so strong willed, but so much the better for when he was turned. The pains and pleasures he received would weaken him to the point of breaking. And in this atmosphere along with the aid of Succubi and Incubi blood flowing through his veins. If he gave in, corruption would flood into the mortal. Throughout the body and into the soul he would be transformed into a demon himself. A devil born from a living soul, one not already condemned to evil. With such a marvelous pet the monster could expand into nigh infinite possibilities.

A gurgling scream faded into a sensual moan that throbbed out of the Garbock pit. The monster smiled to himself, his new pet even had the possibility to rival both the Demon Lords and the Olympians. Such was the power of a living soul corrupted in the depths of Hell, transformed into an immortal.

And he was its master.

 

▲

 

“It appears that you are doing well my pet.” The demon rumbled approvingly.

Tired eyes blinked back at him, near empty of thought and reason and life. Pale skin glimmered with slime as the boy’s body lay on a writhing mass of soft-beaked tentacles. The poor human’s stomach above the hips and under the rib cage was torn from the inside. Black and rotting flesh hung out like torn parchment. But growing back. Iridescent blue faintly glowed visibly in his veins, signs that the cancerous demon blood was taking over.

A needle-toothed grin spread over the demon’s face as he eyed his progress. He crouched over the slick hole and mumbled old words, powerful words. A purple, serpentine curl of runes swirled around his forearm and a magic circle floated above the back of his hand, spinning lazily in wait for its activation.

The demon reached down and seized the human boy’s head, long fingers wrapping around his skull.  The magical sequence activating at the catalytic will of its creator. The purple symbols slithered around the magic circle before both seemed to sink through the demon’s hand and into the Beywyn’s forehead.

Beywyn gasped and arched. Tentacles, disturbed by the sudden movement of their prey, wrapped around his appendages to ensure he did not escape. In his mind ethereal chains seemed to wrap around him, cocooning him in unfamiliar imprisonment. Beywyn’s thoughts, plagued by feverish infection and months of built up hormones, grew more fragmented. They seemed to shatter like glass only to be conjoined with spider web bindings. A thousand voices and sensations fought for Beywyn’s attention as he struggled to pull his consciousness back in order.

It was no use. The voices scattered on huffing winds of thought, crackling sensations of touch wormed and slithered about, the blocks that formed firm thought and conscious lay broken and busted, natural habit was disjointed and juxtaposed; sense was smothered by raging feelings.

“Mmm. Most interesting!” The demon stroked his chin. “I wonder, how long you will be able to withstand this punishment? Only a fool would attempt to hold out this long. You are lock away and forgotten here, sealed away from all that you know. Your concept of space is gone. Your concept of place is gone. Your concept of relationships is gone. Your concept of right and wrong is diminishing. Even your concept of time is in error.”

A blink. The human pet stirred, looking up at him with near empty eyes.

“Ah you are wondering what I mean? Just merely this: I could say you have been here a few months but such things do not happen here. A year? A month? A day? Such things do not exist! Not here, not now! Time is not measured by the pitiful dimensions of men. That right is reserved for we gods.”

The demon paused. As he opened his hand a small, leather book appeared in a whoosh of blue-flamed smoke. Letters were burned into the journal, scribed there by the demon’s mind alone. _Truly remarkable indeed, this pet of mine, to still have a trace of solid thought after all that I have put him through. Truly remarkable, perhaps even miraculous. I wish I could further investigate his bloodline but my own methods are lacking in finesse. Though I am sure that he is not a divine descendant, nor an infernal one. Father was a practitioner and of a rich bloodline, and the mother picked up the practice with little talent; but the place and plane of origin is far removed from attention of any divine or infernal influence. I am fortunate to have spies not restricted to Tylon or the Infernal Plane. They were able to verify his origin to an extent. However, if he is mere human yet still possessing such willful and resistant qualities as these that he has demonstrated then he is a wondrous prize._

Another pause as the human’s organs had almost fully regenerated. The rotting flesh would seal back up and then the breeding cycle would start again. _I must be careful as some of the tortures I have started to implement, the use of magic and psionic effects both raw and controlled, have destroyed mortals when they were on their own plane. To have survived the inferno thus far is noteworthy. Eddies of power and the ethereal tides rage though this plane unforgivingly. Yet my watchman, the Belial called Rhorkchestyr, swears that the human walked around for a time hindered only by a lone Nitghwish._

_One of the lower Belials that were sent to capture him was struck by the mortal. Although dealing insignificant harm the blow was stunning in its audacity. From the sight of the watchman’s serpent I viewed the fight. This one will surely be my greatest prize! My keenest weapon._

_Which gives me a unique idea._

Dropping the book and ignoring the way it vanished back into smoke, the demon slipped a hand into his cloak and pulled out a misty crystal sphere. “You should enjoy this my pet.” He said before dropping the globe into the pit. “Enjoy yourself. Try not to get too lost.”

“Fuck you.” A weak voice drifted between the boy’s numb lips.

Chuckling to himself the demon drifted away, again leaving his plaything to be the Garbock’s breeding sleeve.

 

▲

 

Beywyn awoke with a groan. He was cold and covered in slime, sitting naked on the chair again. He wanted to shiver but his muscles had spasmed so much that they had gone numb. The only thing keeping him upright was the tight straps connected to the chair back. A familiar feeling of cool metal pricked his back and Beywyn followed the misaligned thoughts to conclude that the demon, or whatever foul bump in the night he was, had dragged him out of the pit to stock Beywyn full of human blood. Again.

He could try to remember how many times it had been but it was too far. Gaps in his mind took too long to bridge. Thoughts too hard to connect. And he would have to remember those things as well, Garbocks the demon called them. Sickly bulb like on the outside and their tops opened up to reveal a mass of writhing tentacles. It reminded Beywyn of sea anemones. The human didn’t even know how that connection was made, it just popped.

“Marvelous! Truly extraordinary.” A whoosh of smoke and blue ash announced his hated host. “Mr. Erskine I am truly impressed that you have managed to go this long without admitting defeat.”

Beywyn gave him a glare, it was the most he muster out of his exhausted body.

“Oh, you do still have some fire left in your eyes.” The demon padded over the moss covered stone toward his imprisoned pet. “I believe you will like the present I have for you today.” He said, abruptly seizing Beywyn’s slack head. Sygils and runes of green and blue swirled off of a circle on the demon’s hand to float around the boy’s head like a halo.

The color slowly bleached into a blood red and Beywyn screamed. Fragmented thoughts, like a shattered mirror, were forced into realignment. Cramming together in rough edged assembly. Saliva frothed at his mouth and his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.

_Please stop, I’m going to die._

_You’re killing us!_

_I’m going to die._

_Leave us alone!_

_I’m going to die._

“Oh please, do not worry about dying. I sealed your soul into your body with some of my power. Not to worry, something so little as retracting the web that held your scattered thoughts together should not kill you.” The demon said, retrieving a misty crystal ball from his cloak. “I will leave you for now with a little entertainment. But just remember this my little pet. All you have to do is ask, submit unto me, and your torment will stop. Think about it.” Smoke wisped around the creature as he departed.

A groan seeped through Beywyn’s numb lips, thoughts now grating agonizingly close together. It had defused into a rocking headache when the globe the demon left began to glow. Pale light cast from it seemed to expand until it appeared to Beywyn that he was inside a larger globe. Blurred figures and swaying fragments swirled around him as muffled voices strained to be heard. He wondered what it was he was seeing and then everything became clear, as if the mist cleared away.

“More! Please give me more! Fill me up, all the way!” His own voice moaned. The Garbocks screeched and hissed to each other. Beywyn saw them wriggle up his ass like worms, and the globs of white pumped into his stomach that brought his imaged self to orgasm again and again.

“Stop.” Beywyn groaned, sitting up in his seat.

“Don’t stop! Give me those precious eggs!” He gurgled as one entered his mouth, nipping playfully at his tongue before plunging deeper into his throat.

“I said stop.” Beywyn gritted his teeth. Twitching fingers contracted to grip hard around the chair.

The tentacle in his mouth wiggled its way back out. He gave it a loving slurp as it left, eyeing the slimed appendage with tender want. A particularly large Garbock pod waddled its way amongst the others before sticking its large ovipositor into his already occupied ass. “Oooh! I’m going to break! Please don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

“Stop!” Beywyn roared as he shook from his confines in the chair.

“I’m going to rip in half!” He gasped and opened his mouth in a silent moan. A particularly large egg drifted up the ovipositor and tried to nudge its way into his abused sphincter. The large ovipositor wiggled and bucked, trying to release its precious cargo into the breeding sleeve. His prostate was abused into oblivion as he gasped and moaned, twerking through several dry orgasms before the huge eggs plunged though into his gut.

“Please stop.” Beywyn murmured half-heartedly. A tear fell down his cheek unnoticed.

“So good.” He panted nothings to his uncaring violators. “So good.”

 

▲

_How long has it been?_

_There is no such thing as time. He said as much._

_How many times has it been?_

_Who knows, even God probably isn’t keeping count._

_I hate this._

_You and me both._

_Do you think we can do it?_

_We don’t really have a choice. Do we?_

_No. I guess not._

 

 

 

<Chapter3>

“Hello pet. You seem rather confused.”

The human lay on a bed of slowly slithering tentacles. After days and nights of breeding again and again, and their children and grandchildren doing the same the Garbocks had to slumber sometime. His pet’s skin was tinging pale blue again and two dark spots pulsed with blackened veins on his forehead where horns were ready to come out. Any body hair he once had molted out of his skin. The next step in the infection would make it unnaturally smooth and give it a sheen in the right light.

His areolae had grown a little to two finger widths, and his sensitive buds perked up like delicate treats waiting to be suckled. As the demon surmised his already effeminate figure had become more girlish. Narrower and softer shoulders, slightly wider hips but thin waist, perky but small breasts that looked like they belonged on a budding maiden than a young man. Yet at the same time the foundation of his musculature did not diminish. Surmising that the boy would likely grow into his lithe form the demon had to resist licking his lips.

There would be much more enjoyment later. “I could show you much better pleasure than this my pet. You will be warmed and taken care of. Pain will fade, pleasure and leisure will remain. I swear to you, you will not want for anything with me. Not even happiness. Come sit at my feet, accept me as your master and I will care for you.”

Slowly, gracefully the human stretched up his slender hand with eyes wanting and full of hope. His back arched, pulled by the seeking initiator of an arm, separating from the slime covered mass of Garbock buds. The boy’s thin lips parted a little, letting cute audible gasps punctuate the relative silence.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” The demon smiled lovingly, crouching over the hole.

He nodded, trying to reach further than his weak arms could grasp. “Yes.”

Reaching down and seizing the invited hand the demon carefully pulled up his new pet. Wrapping the quivering boy in a hand-woven blanket the demon lifted his prize into his arms.

“Thank you. Master.”

“All is well now my pet. You may call me Balthat, Demon Lord of scholastic pursuits.” Balthat said, carefully walking through the moist cave pillars and up a crumbling set of limestone stairs.

Hot, dry air blew like breath from ahead and light dyed the rotting green stones red. The smells of rotting and burning flesh mingled with foul, noxious fumes. And there were echoing sounds of torment and agony and fire.

Balthat carried his new prize up through a stone arch patterned with gargoyles and hellish beasts, and out onto a rail-less balcony. Before the pair lay a fiery and chaotic landscape. Chunks of rock and visible gusts of wind where thrown about, whooshing and groaning over a sea of magma. Here and there the sea surged up to form flowing pillars, defying all known natural laws to be swallowed up by swirling clouds of darkness above. Red and yellow lightning cracked and thundered, sometimes arching down to tear off a side from any exposed rock. All about dark shapes wailed and whisked about like wraiths disturbed from a peaceful rest.

“Welcome to the Inferno my beloved pet.”

 

▲

 

After the boy had been washed in strange blue fluid and dressed in immodest clothes Demon Lord Balthat began to conduct them along a tour of his hellish domain, lecturing as they went. The Demon Lord was very pleased with his androgynous pet, pride swelling in his voice. Clinging to the side of his master clothed with nothing more than a sash tied across his bosom and a tasseled sarong tied around his waist in a skirt, he listened as Lord Balthat instructed him on the geography as they flew ethereally over his quarter of Hell.

“Much of what you humans know is a mythical aberration, a perception of the state of things, conjured and warped over many years of changing beliefs. I doubt there are many mortals who hold untainted knowledge of how of creation works.” Lord Balthat intoned, pleased that he now had a pupil and a pet to share the sum of his wisdom with. “As you can see before you Hell or the Inferno is a nigh infinite plane. All is chaos here warping reality so much that the only thing keeping most places intact is the chaotic power of the Demon Lords who rule over the plots of space we take for ourselves. The conflicting chaos brings about an area of order that Demon Lords call their domain.”

As if in example Balthat waved his hand and black continents began to rise from the sea of magma beneath them. The floating crag, where Lord Balthat had set his fortress, from which they had come looked like a black tear reaching down to connect with like blackened ground.

“However, do not be deceived. While the plane may seem infinite we are in truth dwelling underneath the surface of a planetoid.” Balthat gestured to the sky above them. “Before time the gods grew into conflict over the scraps left by the Creator. We gods chose sides. The Demon Lords were the first gods of chaos and the Olympians were the gods of order. The Olympians won, declaring their victory as they sat on thrones in Heaven. While their opponents were cast into the Abyss that is Sheól. Those of us that were spared were imprisoned here in Hell, the Infernal plane, to serve as unwilling cohorts while the Olympians claimed thrones in Heaven, the Celestial plane, from which to guide all good.” He spat to the side and mumbled an oath in unfamiliar words. “And to judge out their hard asses.”

Heaving a huge sigh that bellied his nonexistent girth Lord Balthat smirked. “But one day. We will rise above this prison to take all that has been locked away from us.” He curled an arm around his pet’s slim waist. “You my precious human will be the key. But for now I will tell you kingdoms of demons.”

“All that you can see here and as far as the reaches of this sulfurous sea is my domain. Often I receive the souls of heretics and scholars, many of whom wished to pervert their own teachings. They dwell beneath the sea in capsules of baking stone. They are in excellent company if I do say so myself.” Balthat grinned. “Though any number of souls are sent to my realm of Hell to be punished. Sometimes mortals swear themselves to me, thinking to advance themselves in their passing life. Fools, all of them.”

He paused a minute before continuing. “Beyond the sea and its attributing rivers, islands, and tributaries is a wide forest of Amlethyt trees whose trunks are made of grey stone and the fruits they bear are great amethyst like opals. Then there is a vast wind-swept waste, an ashen desert devoid of all inhabitants natural or otherwise. And below this great sea is a catacomb of tunnels and canyons. A vast subterranean system that I can raise or lower at a whim. This is the extent of my kingdom.”

Lifting his hand to the cloud torn sky the Demon Lord called forth in a tongue not often heard by lower beings. At his beckoning a rough, diamond-shaped formation of light swallowing stone drifted down out of the surging storm. “My library, one of my most prized possessions. It holds documents from all corners of existence that I could obtain. Even small things are not spared, as it gives me insight to the minds of my adversaries and allies. I have the Treatises of Balthat the Fifth, invoices of the Elves to the half-gods, recipes of trans-dimensional food critics, Shipwright blueprints for intergalactic traveling vessels, declarations of war between bug-men, memoirs of forgotten beings, spell activating scrolls of the Celestial armies, the treaties of European peace, and even sullen poetry formed from the mind of a deranged Theudra.”

“Under my personal instruction, you will inherit all the knowledge I have gathered.” Balthat smiled as he conducted their ascent to the twisted monolith of stolen knowledge.

Cold back stone welcomed them in cool placidity. True to his word, they walked through a small hand-cloven passage into a vast library that occupied the hollow of the diamond shaped rock. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, manuscripts, scrolls, papyri, codices, holo-books; even stone carvings. Other collections floated in mid-air or dangled from the ceiling in cocooned stasis, dangling by silken webbing of arachnid design. 

A large parchment detached itself from the undiscernible mass of writing, unraveling before them at the Demon Lord’s whim. There were seventeen glyphs inscribed and seventeen names beneath them. Of the seventeen, four were burnt away leaving thirteen remaining with stings of succeeding numerals dripping from under them.

“Seventeen we were, just as you see here, in the beginning. Now we are twelve and one in number with few of us of the original seventeen. Demon Lords take pupils and heirs to their power. For you see, even beings of power such as ourselves can be cast into the Abyss with our predecessors. It is part of our ‘punishment’. Whether through Celestial might or mortal trickery we can be weakened to a point then our being is destroyed, banished into Sheól.”

“Demiu, Mulok, Behi, and Ababzel all fell without heirs. Treacherous comrades whose mistakes we shall learn from my pet.” Balthat held the human close. “And you shall surpass them all in my name. You will do this my Devil-Boy?”

Nuzzling close to the Demon Lord’s sordid form the slowly succumbing human looked up at his master with large, luminescent blue-grey eyes. “I will, Lord Balthat, my master.”

“That is good. Then let us begin.”

 

▲

 

Crystal light glittered in the mirrored edges of a thousand and one blades that hung from racks and bannisters. “When a Demon Lord claims a successor, the candidate is already of considerable power. The Demon Lord then imparts his mantle to the heir when the Demon Lord is struck down. It is a closely regulated technique that is passed down through master to pupil only. If the Demon Lord dies without a successor his name and line cease to be, banished to the Abyss forever more. However, as you are not to be my weapon and not my successor we will take a different strategy. I will teach you the technique in time, but not for myself. However, there are great hurdles you must overcome to achieve such a practice. And for this we must make you strong.”

The Devil-Boy stood in the center of a sand pit of an empty colosseum. His master stood in the seats over one of the rusty iron gates leading into the colosseum’s tunnels and armory rooms. “I am going to build you from the ground up my pet. You must be able to match the strength of a warlord, the mind of a manipulator, the words of a seductress, magic of a necromancer, the perversion of a debaucher, and the knowledge of a scholar. Succeed for me my pet, earn the love that I have given you!”

“Yes master.” The human bowed deeply. Balthat smiled, he had given his precious experiment more human blood before they came to the ruined colosseum. While he wanted to see the Succubi and Incubi blood take full effect, the Demon Lord was more interested in the human changing form on his own. To become a full demon of his own volition.

Nodding Balthat stomped his foot. “Come Gryssjr, bring out your instructors of war!”

With a shudder and a shriek, the gate that Balthat stood over sank into the ground. From the darkness strode the Nephilim Gryssjr, the same warrior who had taken the Devil-Boy to Balthat when he had first entered the Inferno, in all his unholy glory. Behind him were moving blobs of fat and muscle on stump like legs, Cambions formed from the mating between Trolls and demons. The ground of the arena quaked slightly under the heavy footfalls of the demonic beings.

Nephilim Gryssjr clasped his iron banded arms behind his back. “Former human, when I am given your leash you are under my directions. I am not your master; I am your instructor. You will do as I say, when I say it, and how I want it. If you impress me you will earn autonomy for invention and imagination. Otherwise your movements belong to your instructors and Lord Balthat. Understood?”

Devil-Boy nodded, an empty look had already settled in his eyes.

“Good.” Gryssjr nodded in turn. He waved with one hand to the Cambions around him while keeping the other behind his back. “You are to show me what you know, former human. Defeat these warriors without any weapon save your body. But do not kill them. The greatest challenge is not what we can do easily but what seems impossible from our level of understanding.”

He waited until the Devil-Boy nodded again. “BEGIN!” he roared.

The slowly reforming human went to work. He was light on his feet, even more so that before than the Nephilim’s account. When the order to start had left his lips the Devil-Boy started to make quick work of the first Troll-Demon hybrid. He was equal parts brash and cautious, testing the Cambions aggressively and skidding back in defense to avoid fatal blows. He must have had a good teacher in his past life, and talent that remained to grow in this one.

Gryssjr looked approvingly up at Lord Balthat and nodded. The Devil-Boy would surely reach uncomprehended heights. Balthat smiled and took to the air, a skeletal pair of batwings carrying him out of the empty seats. He would leave the blood drinkers to their teachings while he prepared the others for his weapon’s coming. Indeed, there was much to be done.

With a quick swipe of an oak sized club the Devil-Boy skittered back a few paces, arms up and defensive. Energy swelled in him and around him, he could feel it growing and filtering through him. Making him stronger, fueling his speed, surging through him down to his bones.

Griyzzjer saw it as well, the swell of magical forces within the former human and the draw of the magic around him. The former human was getting faster and stronger, his mind keener. And he was realizing it, grasping it, channeling it. The former human knew the limitations of his former life and appeared to be constructing new theories in his combative ideology. Griyzzjer nodded to himself in approval. Surely this one would reach the level of the Demon Lords for Lord Balthat. Maybe even surpass it. A monster to monsters.

Another Cambion crumbled to the ground, a wheezing mess of sweat and bruised flesh. That scored three down and seven to defeat. Gryssjr huffed, the former human would grow strong. If he survived that is.

And survive he did.

 

▲

 

The Devil-boy was trained in all aspects of magic, from the most base of laws to the complex and out of reach spells of the Celestial warriors, and other things. Under Griyzzjer’s tutelage he learned the combative and strategic arts, learning all forms of combat that Balthat’s ranks had to offer. The art of manipulation, suggestion, etiquette, the demon court, and the like were taught by the few Succubi and Incubi that dwelled in Balthat’s domain. But what each particular art or trade lacked in number of instructors they made up for in experience. Since Lord Balthath’s domain was one of the smallest, and the Demon Lord himself being one of the weakest, he had few followers and fewer still souls he claimed. But his vassals were veterans, each making up for their inadequacy of numbers. Constant struggle between powers of heaven and hell had made them scrappers. Survivors no matter the situation.

As for when all his instructors and tradesmen were through with their sessions, Lord Balthat himself would teach his precious pet of the world he now existed in. Economics, geography, topography, history, meteorology, linguistics, literature, agriculture and horticulture methods of various races; anything and everything that the Demon Lord had ever known or stored in his library was taught to his weapon.

Before there were Demon Lords or the Olympians there was the unknown Creator, the author without a face. He was said to have made all things, balancing dark and light at the beginning of all known eternities. Entities formed out of the remnants, powerful beings of existence. They sought what had caused their birth but the Creator was already gone, vanishing from existence without a trace. This was one of the primary causes of the splintering among the new gods and goddesses.

Balthat personally spoke of an elusive third party, a mystical group of avatars that were directly related to the Creator himself. There were a handful in number, and individually wielded less power than the Creator, but watched over what the Creator had made. As was their task. But the only link that could be found was a misaligned tongue. The Demon Lord had gone through all known records but had found little to substantiate his theory. However, he substantiated that the oldest language known belonged to these avatars of the Creator. This language, known as Tshyhi, was the oldest written language in the whole of existence. None had been able to fully translate it. And even in these times only fragments of words or letters could be made out.

The Creator may have left but he gave one final gift. According to what could be salvaged out of the plane rifts in time and space, the Creator visited every ‘Earth’ in every dimension and plane. There he took on the form of a god-mortal and sacrificed himself to the mortal men after giving them a distinct set of teachings. No one knew, or even knew now what machinations he used but from his body he had created the untouchable realm known as ‘Heaven’. A plane outside of existence that harbored all good souls. From his mortal form he had created a pathway, an open gate, for mortals to reach this safe paradise. And his spirit, an elusive thing that was more of a haunting ghost than anything else, dispersed through creation. This guided all towards good in hopes of reaching peace throughout his creation.

The gods wept at the departing of their dear father. The evil ones grew angry and selfish, wondering why the Creator had sacrificed himself and abandoned them. The righteous ones saw this as the Creator’s final lesson to them. And they should follow his example to help aid mortals in achieving happiness. This was the first Divine War that led to the banishment of the Demon Lords into Hell or Sheól.

The Demon Lords, were sentenced to the planetoid plane known as Hell. Here they were given the one task they wished to do most: punish. Punish the evil souls that were to bound by darkness to reach Heaven. Eventually the souls would be sucked from their grasp and return to the cycle to try again. The old gods of righteousness, knowing that their prisoners would not settle for being locked away for all eternity, created a playing ground for which to ease the new god’s desires.

As it was written in the Bone Rune Canticles,

“From the bones of the righteous they created heaven.

From the bowels of evil they built Hell.

And from their hearts, they formed Thylodon.”

This new ground became the battle arena between good and evil, between the Olympians and Demon Lords, like none in existence. And so began the Divine Wars. First it was merely god against god. Then things turned interesting. Beings were created or birthed or brought to Thylodon, or Tylon, to serve as vassals to the waring gods. Demons Lords crafted demons, the Celestials found their Creator had made angels watch over his creation. Demons spawned half-demons, and celestials spawned half-celestials. And so on.

Tylon was the center of all conflict between good and evil. That is not to say there were other versions of Hell or Heaven and their residence there-in. Even the Olympians in their stiff-necked platitudes constructed a heavenly plane from which they could govern and aide the creation their father left them.

However, while the Olympians often visited the infinite number of planes and dimensions the Demon Lords were bound to Tylon and Hell. Locked outside of time and space while forever doing the Olympian’s dirty work. The one exception was when an individual or individuals outside of both planes summoned demons from the one true Hell. But this opportunity was a rare event.

The Devil-boy grew in knowledge and power and understanding. His master taught him many great and wonderful things. But there needed to be more.

For such expertise required Lord Balthat had to contract outside his own domain. He sent word to the realm of Diluvius, to the House of Dinylus Sköll, humbly requesting the presence of Ashlesa Vuka Dinylus Oxpheratus Sköll, Queen of Damnation and concubine to Demon Lord Diluvius IV. The package contained the appropriate gift, something personally appeasing to the Succubus that would make her not wanting to be seemingly indebted to another Demon Lord, and an invitation detailing Lord Balthat’s request.

The daughter of the House of Dinylus Sköll arrived with only a small entourage, something to Balthat expected of one of the famed Queens of Damnation when visiting a minor Demon Lord. A handful of servitors, slaves, guards, and personal attendants. As Balthat greeted the infamous Succubus on the cave ledge of a black canyon cliff, he admired the terrible beauty that had brought many a being to their knees.

Ashlesa Vuka was tall, proud, with scarlet skin; a well-toned body that expressed both power and beauty. Her thin fingers as well as her toes curving with sharp, black claws. Her horns towered up in elegant spirals amongst a sea of black hair that fell straight down to her alluring waist. Her majestic, bat-like wings clawed with bone and on the inside were ever swirling patterns showing unreachable stars as they burned in the night sky. Her tail was a long barbed spear. Her garments where scanty but befitting of a Succubus queen, the small bones of her enemies formed a long loincloth and a thick necklace that crossed behind her back and came up to cover her luscious breasts. A circlet of small skulls, jaws hung agape, crowned her head. Her very presence was tantalizing. An aura constructed over millennia of mortal years to perfection. It was in Balthat’s opinion that none were her equal save for Demon Lord Lillith and Lylith, who was the mother of all sexual demons and of whom Balthat had only seen in icons and paintings and in faint memories of his predecessor.

“Queen of Damnation from the House of Dinylus Sköll, most prized and most favored in the realm of Demon Lord Diluvius! I, Demon Lord Balthat, respectfully welcome you to this modest realm. My many thanks for coming here at my lowly request.” The repetulent being put his hands in the sleeves of his large robe and bowed slightly from the waist.

“Demon Lord of Scholasticism Balthat, the Thinker of Many Paths.” The Succubus spoke low, her seductive voice addictively intoxicating, as she exited her flying carriage. “I, Queen of Damnation from the House of Dinylus Sköll and right hand lady of Demon Lord Diluvius, have answered your invitation and am most grateful for your gift. It was quite wonderful the thing you sent me. I can only hope I can give you something of equal value.”

Balthat smiled as he looked into those glowing yellow eyes. The contest of manipulation had reached middle game. Both of them knew he had sent that gift with the invitation to put the Succubus in a position of weakness. No demon ever wanted to stay indebted to another. It was his turn. To make something so particular and intimate a thing he gave her a debt free gift she would have to play with him. Something he would take full advantage of. He would ask her about his need for her, playing the whole matter off as a small thing but one worth extinguishing the debt.

“My dear visitant.” Balthat began, sweeping his arm to welcome his guests into the cavern. “I am in direst need of your expertise.”

As they passed the opening of dark stone and traveled down a short flight of stairs to a hallway, the Succubus smiled sweetly. “If I remember correctly Lord Balthat, you once requested that I train your demons on sexual matters and techniques. It was indeed not too long ago as my memory serves me. Have you worked them so hard that they remember nothing of what they have been taught?”

“Ah, no, most inquisitive queen.” Lord Balthat chuckled. “Have I ever been one to misplace or misappropriate a gift to those I send them to? No. This matter is of a delicate nature that lies beyond the training I am grateful that you gave my demons. This requires a personal touch.”

The Queen of Damnation smiled but inside her mind raced. Lord Balthat was a tricky bastard, a compliment that she gave rarely. His line had kept their little kingdom on Tylon and realm of Hell since the beginning. It was small but efficient. Lord Balthat’s plots almost equaled that of Lord Adlaytho the Manipulator. Yet he always had a means of maintaining the status quo between himself and the other Demon Lords. Even between ranks of the celestial Olympians.

As they rounded a corner left then another right and another right then left, she prepared for the worst. At the most her position with Lord Diluvius would be compromised and have to be sacrificed to keep her Lord safe. No matter the cost, she would never give up her lover. Lord Diluvius was everything to her, even if she was not his wife and just a mere concubine. They were a pair of intimate lovers. If she had been sanctimonious she would have called their passion that of soul mates. But such things were of the pitiful pious teachings of the Olympians. Never the less, they were conjoined as few demons of their rank or position had been before. It was quite something that Ashlesa Vuka could quietly brag among her lip sealed attendants that the Demon Lord of War was the most compassionate lover to bed with her.

A door of solid white granite lay ahead, it’s contours arching to form a point at the top. An Incubus knelt plaintively and passively to the right, and a Succubus in like manner to the left with their heads bowed and their hands respectfully folded in their bare laps. When the entourage approached the nude sentinels stood as one and gripped the large lead handles, their sinuous muscles pulling the doorway open.

Inside was a place the Queen of Damnation was much familiar with. The expansive, columned dungeon lit by furnaces, torches, mage lights, and the occasional wisp was where she had trained demons upon her last visit. Every conceivable and conceived device designed for pleasure was here, laid out worshipfully for her to use. There were dildos, whips, riding crops, gags, plugs, harnesses, ropes, straps, outfits, mattresses, beds, vibrators, strings, beads, and so much more. It was a sex demon’s dream room. However, further inside lay the object of inquiry.

A nude human form, tied up and held above the floor, was stretched out between four pillars by silken ropes. Clearly male from the phallus dangling beneath his curvaceous form, his head was encased in a rubber hood one would usually find for their masochistic slaves. A ball gag blocked his mouth while his arms were incased behind his back. The legs were bound so that the calves folded back onto the thighs, spread wide to allow access to a plump but seemingly toned rear. A collar with Lord Balthat’s personal sigil, a serpentine Wyrm eating a scroll, was bound to the ceiling to keep his head from dropping.

The Succubus strode forward like a large cat seizing up her prey. He had the bodily appearance of a youth. The human body was about waist high for her, it’s effeminate curves smooth and appealing to even her eyes. The skin was pale and was ever so slightly taking on a blue hue. Something to be expected from a resident of Hell who had never seen pure sunlight of Tylon. But there was something wrong. Even though chaos and corruption were eating at this body it appeared neither demon nor Nephilim.

Cautiously the Queen of Damnation stalked around the boy, to face his bottom. The nubile flesh tantalized her salacious appetite, but only that. Rounded, wide hips for a male and a thin waist. But the musculature was a bit definitive on the lithe body, giving an impression of skintight strength with effeminizing beauty. However, that was exactly the problem. Even her eyes could see the soul that was attached to this form. A soul. A mortal soul. It was an impossibility by all laws of existence, put in place by the Creator himself.

“What is the meaning of this?” She kept her tone even but edged with menace. “Why have you brought me here Lord Balthat?”

“Ah. You see my dilemma, o queen?” Balthat came forward and placed himself so his crotch was centered directly in front of the boy’s face.

“How can this be? You have a living-”

“Please o queen!” Balthat interrupted as he raised his hands and looked at the Succubi’s entourage. “If you would send your vassals out of the room. There is something I wish to discuss with you in private.”

Her eyes narrowed. _What are you playing at you old Wyrm? What have your studies brought you to?_

The Queen of Damnation gave a nod and waved her followers away. They bowed to their queen and left in stoic fashion. A boom echoed through the pleasure chambers as the granite door closed behind them.

Turning to Lord Balthat the Succubus eyed the Demon Lord. “What are you playing at Lord Balthat? There is a living soul, a soul that would be locked in either Heaven or Hell. Yet it resides in this body. This perversion never exists! It cannot!”

“I see that I cannot fool such illustrious eyes.” Balthat chuckled and threw his arms up in a shrugged defeat. “I confess; this is a project of mine I have been working on for some time. It is a homunculus formed with magic and parts of mortal slaves claimed. I bound the flesh together myself. As for the soul, your eyes do not deceive you. It is the spirit of a young male whore from my kingdom on Tylon. He was raped and drugged from a young age. And then he snapped before long, going to one of the Olympian temples and slaughtering the priests. He bathed in the blood of the acolytes and tore out the wombs of the priestesses. I personally conjoined his soul to this flesh-body in order to make this marvelous creation.”

The Succubus kept her tongue in her mouth as she eyed the Demon Lord. Every demon, especially a Queen of Damnation such as herself, knew that dragging a soul to Hell with a body attached was impossible. Travel, passage; visiting of Hell was sealed away from those whose life still flickered. From the lesser dimensional and planar hells, the souls of the condemned journeyed toward the Abyss where they would reach their judgement and torment according. The passage was fraught with perils and guarded by not only the denizens of the lesser demon realms but also by the laws that held the fabricated court together. Unless an immortal soul was judged and condemned, of which there were few, all those who preceded to the gates of Hell were souls departed from their bodies.

Yet, there were other ways. What Balthat said was true. It was possible to bond a condemned soul to a seized body or even a constructed one. It was partially how constructs were formed and golems as well, at least in a more generalized sense. The Demon Lord of Ruin was himself the master of necromancy and all knowledge of life and death. Narrowing her eyes, the Succubus looked once again at the fleshly body before her. It did indeed bear a remarkable resemblance to a living person. The soul, a vibrant thing in the eyes of the Succubus, seemed inordinately attached to the body. As if it was born to the vessel naturally. Where upon, if natural occurrence was the case, both body and soul melded into one being for a lifespan. And while it did seem to take the appearance of such; under close inspection of the Succubus the soul looked inappropriate. It spiked unnaturally through the body and throbbed like a pulsing vein with dark corruption, the kind one could only see if they stared into the Abyss that was Hell and all its decadence. And at other parts the soul itself seemed to fragment and was almost sewn back together, a feat that was most certainly doable but challenging even to masters of the art.

“Please do not let the extensive work fool you O’ Queen on Damnation.” Balthat’s voice was a subsidiary that rang like an echo as the Succubus inspected the subject over and over again. “This fabrication, though of my finest work, is but that. And if I had the chance to claim a living soul, still attached to its body, would I flaunt it so readily before one who might chance seizing it from my grasp?”

Even the Succubus had to admit there was little fault in his argument. No Demon Lord, not even the Lord of Fools Krythlit, would let their hand slight so far as to give another total advantage. It was what cost several other Demon Lords their place in Hell.

In awe of his work, the Queen of Damnation ceased her scrutiny and took a moment to admire the craft she did not know the Demon Lord capable of. It was indeed pristine. An artificial life born in the depths of Hell was not a hard task. But making one so complete. It rivaled the flesh-harems of Lord Gaap-Taob.

“Impressive is it not?” Balthat grinned, knowing he had convinced the Succubus of his lie. “He almost looks like he’s alive, doesn’t he? It took me quite a while and tried my own patience. I admit the process was irksome in the least, causing my anger to ruin many bodies and souls. It was a long journey to find the exact fit. But the result was worth it.”

“Indeed.” The Succubus murmured in agreement. “A homunculus of such advanced design. It mimics a living soul inside of a living body perfectly. Even my eyes cannot tell the difference.” She stopped herself least she overstep and compliment him too much. “Have you been sneaking peeks at Lord Gaap’s recipe book?”

“No, although I have attempted more than once. But unfortunately, while this homunculus has the basic instincts, he lacks refining. Something I could not add by simple means.” Lord Balthat appeared to muse. “I hoped you would be willing to train him. Personally.”

Gazing across to the Demon Lord, the restrained look of hunger was obvious. The Succubus rolled her tongue across the back of her teeth to relieve tension.

Balthat gave one more push. “No one in the realms of Hell has your expertise in such a matter as this. I have seen your methods first hand and wish for you to be the one to train my new pet.”

That set a fire in the yellow eyes of the Succubus. “I accept your offer.” She hissed.

“Very well then.” Lord Balthat stroked the Devil-boy’s chin with a knuckled finger before turning. “I will leave you to your designs. If you have need of anything you have but to ask the servants outside the door and they will deliver it to you. Inform me when you are done.” He glanced back as he walked away. “And please, keep the matter of the body private.”

“With pleasure Lord Balthat.” The Succubi’s tongue rolled lusciously off the ‘r’ as she gave bow.

As the Demon Lord exited and her servants entered, the Queen of Damnation looked about the room. _So many things to play with. Where should we start? Hmmm, so many choices! Where to begin? Where to begin? Ah. I know where._

Allowing herself a sinister smile, the Succubus swayed over to a table of pumps and large syringes. There were also large containers of fluid ranging from clear goo to viscous berry jam to bottled wine. The Succubus pointed to several tubes, a few large syringes, and a clear golden yellow fluid in a bottle marked ‘endless spout’.

_Ah, the wonders of magic._ The Succubus purred to herself as her handmaids collected the items. She made her way over to a different table and made her selection. A small line of inch thick beads with a handle, the reanimated tongue of a traitorous Lamia, a sphere of pulsation about four inches in diameter, needle hoops with weighted balls, several clamps, a cock cage, a large butt plug, feathers from a fallen angel’s wing, several strap-ons with reanimated dragon cocks, and an Embyrwi parasite.

While the homonculus’s insides should have been clean the Succubus simply wanted to see her plaything squirm. The Embyrwi parasite secreted a particular mucus that acted as both lubricant and aphrodisiac as it cleaned its way through the bowels of the host, eating away any excess waste. And made the passages permanently feel as the smoothest and softest silk. The Queen of Damnation smiled in remembrance of her former use of the worm-eel like parasite. The mouthed end would slip in through their throat, gagging and slurping all the way, before squirming into their esophagus and stomach. Most were driven mad by the sweet lubricant secreted by the Embyrwi. Their mind broken, only registering pleasure.

She could have also formed a phallus from her own flesh using her immense magical power instead of a strap-on; becoming what the Asian humans called a futanari. But the Succubus preferred this method. It would be more fun to play with the homunculus this way.

Giving the order to take off the ball gag, the Succubus stalked around to the front. She smiled sweetly even though the hood kept him from seeing her. The servants, ever anticipating their mistress’s needs, brought forth the Embyrwi. Its grey skin oozed with mucus as it wiggled its grey body eagerly. The soft mouthed front gasped and slurped, it’s pink tongue swirling in and out eagerly. Eyeless, the parasite had no need for vision. Its sole thought was to squirm through its host and lick clean their bowels. This particular specimen was about six inches in diameter and four feet in length. It would drive the homunculus crazy to have the intestine worm squirming and coiling through his insides.

Taking the grey Embyrwi herself, the Queen of Damnation cooed. “Are you listening to me flesh-pet? I have a special treat for you.”

Underneath the hood the Succubi’s aura filled words reverberated throughout the Devil-boy’s being. He obediently opened his mouth wide, tongue out. Saliva had pooled in the secondary pleasures hole at being kept in an exposed position. Strings laced between white teeth and eager lips.  It rolled off of his tongue to the floor in willing but submissive waiting.

“Very good. You are a natural learner flesh-pet.” The Succubus was impressed, unsure whether the response was from the soul’s former instincts or the rough lessons of Lord Balthat. “Here it comes. Make sure not to bite. And swallow it all.”

As she raised the Embyrwi to the boy’s mouth the two battled for a moment. His smaller tongue entwined by the much thicker and hungry organ as the Embyrwi sought out the origin of the familiar mouthpiece. Overcome by the parasite’s tongue, the Devil-boy moaned. The slithering Embyrwi wormed toward his mouth, attracted by the recognizable opening. It met drooling lips with a slurp as it struggled to fit its large body into the Devil-boy’s wet mouth.

The Devil-boy moaned a little in alarm at how big and long his ‘treat’ was, but the Succubus quieted him with a slight scolding. He compliantly let the Embyrwi slip further into his mouth. It squirmed and wiggled passed his throat as he tried swallowing to aid its progress. Pulled by the traction added to its own the pleasure parasite made its way past the back of his throat and down his esophagus, oozing pleasure inducing mucus all the way.

Electricity bounced and wrapped every nerve in pleasure from his throat to his mouth as the first foot of the Embyrwi went in. It was quickly followed by the second as the parasite nibbled and licked its way down to his stomach. The cross between suffocation and gratification was intoxicating as the Devil-boy struggled to hold his breath while swirling his tongue along the underside of his gift. He had no idea if the thing could feel it or not but hoping the message of pleasure would reach. When the Embyrwi reached his stomach it coiled in the semi-open space, yanking in another foot of itself into the Devil-boy’s mouth. Completely unharmed by the stomach acid it began to toss and turn inside its new host. The Queen of Damnation watched the scene unveil from the outside as the besieged Devil-boy bucked and whimper and moaned around the tail still sticking out of his mouth. His stomach bulged with the wiggling and coiling outline of the parasite as it used its leverage to pull the rest of it in. Twisting and jerking around it slathered the Devil-boy’s insides with liquid pleasure, the sensitivity of his intestines rising to that of a woman’s vagina. Looking at the underside of the facedown Devil-boy, the Succubus allowed herself a giddy laugh at the sight of the swirling bulge. All the tied up flesh-pet could do was squirm. His mind going mad with pleasure as he was slowly invaded.

Even as the last of the tail slipped into his mouth with a wet slurp, the Devil-boy’s mouth hung agape. Saliva and parasitic pleasure ooz dribbled in thick rivulets from his open pleasure hole while he coughed and gagged for air. Then with one audible ‘slick’ the Embyrwi curled itself fully into the former human’s small stomach. Now free of vented restraint a feminine whimper, the cry of an animal in heat as it was taken, rushed forth from the Devil-boy. His eight inch, uncut manhood twitching to an erection. Precum leaking out of the slit in a small, glistening stream.

“Well aren’t you the eager one.” The Succubus could not stop a grin spreading across her face.

Reaching forward, she placed a hand on the still swirling mass stretching his skin. She started with one finger, slowly rubbing the sensitive skin. Just separated by a few layers of tingling flesh the Embyrwi squirmed at the stimulation. As did the Devil-boy. His back arched and whining pants echoed in the stillness of the chamber. Then she added another finger. Expertly she stroked his bulging belly. It almost made him look pregnant. Then the parasite would wiggle inside of him, making him shudder and mewl in pleasure.

“If I remember correctly.” The Succubus placed her full hand on the protruding stomach as she murmured. “I did not give you permission to become aroused Flesh Pet!” She seized his stomach in her hand, squeezing tight. The parasite floundered in his stomach, panicking at the sudden assault causing the Devil-boy to writhe in turn.

Her sharp claws had not pierced him but where still there. Small pinpoint reminders, pricking at the edge of his nerves. Despite the worming Embyrwi and the Succubi’s dominant assaults, the Devil-boy calmed himself. He bit into his lower lip until it leaked blood. Tensing his muscles; trying to circulate blood elsewhere. Slowly his erection fell as he heaved in breaths. Sweat rolled off of his tense form, glistening like oil in the light.

“Very Goood.” The Succubus purred as she released her grip.

The parasite thrashed and squirmed a bit more, confused at the strange happenstance, then settled to slip further into his host. The Succubus stood and leaned over as she ran her tongue along the smooth and soft, but muscular back. Tasty. And yet, somehow familiar. She cocked an eyebrow. Just what had Lord Balthat added into the mix to create such a stunning specimen?

She leaned in close to his ear and whispered into the hood. “But I am afraid you did not have permission to become aroused. As such, you must be punished. Do you understand flesh-pet?”

Still biting his lip and gritting his teeth the Devil-boy gave a small nod.

“Good flesh-pet.” The Succubus motioned for a small bowel of luminescent orange goo and it was handed to her. She made her way around to face the Devil-boys rear and spread his ass cheeks, applying the goop around but not on his tight rosebud. “While I do wish to continue letting you drowned in pleasure for a bit longer, I have a reputation to maintain. You understand. This concoction will draw your little gift out. And perhaps if you are a good pet, I’ll give it back to you.”

The Devil-boy shuddered. Although whether it was at her promise to give him back to the Embyrwi or her arousing massage that was making his ass-pussy tingle, the Succubus could not tell.

“Pets, slaves, and servants must be obedient to their masters. Pets most of all. They must be attentive to their master’s every need. Of any need in any occasion. Pets do not become visibly aroused unless their master allows them to. Pets do not reach climax before their masters. They cum as their owner does, giving their master more pleasure. Or when the master gives permission. A pet is to find pleasure in all his or her master has to give them. Whether it is pain or ecstasy. However, they are to know when they are being punished for their actions. A pet’s role in life is to please their master as much as they possibly can and avoid actions that would lead to punishment. This is their calling until they die.” The Succubus finished applying the orange ring around the Devil-boy’s pucker and he moaned as the Embyrwi began to move.

It wiggled its way through him. Taking its time to consume its meal but attracted to the strange orange goo. The path it made in him was visible as it curled back and forth through his intestines. The sight of it made even some of the attendants aroused. Such a sight of pure pleasure that could only be found here in Hell.

Allowing herself a pleased sigh, the Succubus smiled. Oh how she loved doing this. There were many other things that offered pleasure. The cutting down of Celestials. The violating of men and women. She did not have a likeness for children. The breaking of a supposedly righteous man. But besides making love to her Lord Diluvius, she loved sexually training and conditioning others. Dominating them and conditioning them to do as instructed. She licked her luscious lips at the thought.

A spurt and groaning of bowels later the Embyrwi began working its way out of the Devil-boy’s ass. First the swirling tongue and the wet lips as they prodded their way out of his twitching bud, forcing the pucker open. Then the smooth heard poked out and tried to reach the tantalizing orange goo. However, the Embyrwi had to squeeze out more and more of its body so that it could turn around and lick all around the Devil-boy’s ass. The Succubus grabbed the feeding parasite and slowly pulled it out. It squelched and oozed as foot after foot came out of the Devil-boy. His body shuddered with impossible pleasure. Each and every one of his nerves was blindingly zapped with ecstasy. With a loud pop the Embyrwi was dragged out of the Devil-boy’s pleasure hole, writhing in protest. As the Succubus handed the parasite over to one of her servants she noted with admiration that the stretched ass began to seal again quickly. This one was just insatiable.

“Now for the fun part.” The Succubus murmured to herself. A sadistic smile reaching her eyes.

Taking the handled beads, she palmed the Devil-boy’s erection. The shaft was only slightly stiff. Smiling, the Succubus wondered at how hard her pet in training must be concentrating in order to keep his genitals mostly flaccid. Not that it mattered any more.

Holding the beads firmly in her hand, the Succubus shoved all of them up his urethra. The Devil-boy bucked and shuddered at the sudden and unfamiliar invasion. He panted and whined, not sure what to think of this new stimulation. The beads stretched out the one orifice he was not used to utilizing. Blind to all that was going on, it felt like the woman had slipped a sting of boulders up his penis slit. His glans sealed around the last ball just before the small handle, locking the intruding mass in for the moment. Before he could fully register how he felt about it, cold metal touched his heated head. The Cock cage squeezed down on his glans, metal bands wrapping tightly around his semi-flaccid shaft, coiling around the base of his manhood and balls, and wrapping around his boy-eggs. The head had an opening at the front, allowing the bead stick handle to stick through unhindered. As the metal touched the Devil-boy’s flesh it seemed to seal around him of its own accord. Like it had a mind of its own. It even curled a little around the bead handle, tightening around it to make sure it did not slip out.

Leaning down, the Succubus set a pair of clamps tightly on the Devil-boy’s hardening areolae and nipples. His succulent circles rose and hardened with his buds, forming erect breast like mounds. Very impressive indeed. The needle hoops would come later, but for now the clamps would provide sufficient stimulation. She smiled as she swirled her finger around the sensitive circles that had taken on a womanly appeal. Like the growing buds of a young maiden.

Satisfied with her work, the Queen of Damnation motioned for the medium sized dragon strap-on. Her attendants slipped the appendage garment onto their mistress, adjusting it to her form. The Wyrm cock came from a certain species of salamander-serpent type Wyrm that lived amongst the lava pools of Hell. Its long shaft was knobbed all the way from the base to the tip, like each section was a slightly smaller glans set. There were four knobs in all, swerving in a slight ‘s’ shape as the Wyrm phallus ended in a sizable knot at the base. The reanimated flesh burned with a slightly red glow underneath throbbing ashen-black skin. The Succubus shuddered as she felt the foreign flesh slightly meld with her own. Their energies linked so that she could feel every twitch and turn of the draconic phallus.

The Queen of Damnation situated herself, lining up the reanimated cock with the slightly gapping and abused pucker. Shrinking the claw on her pointer finger and hooking it in the open sphincter, she pulled the flesh ring open slightly. As she leaned forward the cock head pushed slightly against the opened hole. The Devil-boy gasped as he felt the heated flesh press against his own. He could not remember a time when his own body had been this sensitive. This intense. It felt like his body was lit on fire then melted on top of ice. He did not know whether he was going to burn away in blissful eternity or drool into a puddle to be forgotten.

Then with a violent heave of her hips, the Succubus plunged the entire length savagely into the Devil-boy.

Beneath the hood the Devil-boy’s eyes nearly rolled up into his head. His mouth opened in a silent opened-mouth moan. It felt big inside him as his inner walls struggled to work around this new intrusion. The foreign invader ramming into his sensitive depths and threatening to make his nerves melt entirely. It stretched him beautifully and made his entire body tingle.

Slowly the Succubus withdrew the object of affection, each glans like knob working over the Devil-boy’s twitching passage and coming out of his sphincter with a reluctant pop. Taking a moment, the Devil-boy found himself both satisfied he had taken the insertion as required and sorrowful that it was over so soon. The emptiness did not make him sad. It was that there had been nothing between beginning and end. He was soon proven wrong as the Succubus reinserted the strap-on, gently this time. The Devil-boy felt every inch of the shaft flow through him. Each knob pressing against his pleasure canal until he could feel the knot press against his ass.

It felt so big, like a hot hunk of muscle pulsing against his skin. The Devil-boy mewled in want, trying to urge on the Queen of Damnation to stick in the whole thing. However, his punishment had not yet ended. She eased the strap-on back and forth, dragging the knobs in and out. Sweat began to roll off his body. The room filled with the Devil-boy’s heated whines and the wet pops as the Succubus pulled at his insides with the draconic cock.

Carefully, the Succubus worked the flesh-pet around and around. Teasing the nub just inside him, rubbing against his prostate that had become more pleasurable than a woman’s g-spot, as she brought the Devil-boy up and down the pleasure spectrum. Tantalizing him with that oh so close climax where all things were forgotten and nothing outside pleasure mattered. But never letting him get close enough to taste it.

She was surprised that the flesh-pet’s own cock was not straining against the metal cage she had set in place. He seemed to be taking her instructions literally. It was shocking and gratifying at the same time. Oddly enough, she had never had a better student than him. Despite that, her own attendants looked strained. Perhaps the sight of their mistress inflicting her will and aura so forcefully on the subject was too much for them.

Never the less, the Queen of Damnation continued on her crusade of plundering the flesh-pet’s ass. Her gently prodding becoming savage. Pounding into the homunculus like a true sexual demon. The Succubi’s toned body slamming into the curvaceous flesh-pet with lewd smacks of impacting wet flesh. She also began to sweat and her appearance took on that of a goddess. Glittering with perspiring beads of starlight; slipping sensuously into the willing lover. Her insatiable appetite and forever lustful nature revealed. But never once did the Succubus slip from her goal.

Despite the ricochets of raptured sensations flooding through his body the Devil-boy was held back. The Queen of Damnation thrust into him again and again, burying the Wyrm dick into his ass until the Devil-boy was all but a quivering mess of wet flesh.

She, herself, was already closing in on sweet release and keenly intent on teaching the homunculus how to perform. He would not be allowed to cum before she did. Below him his constricted cock dribbled pre-cum, staying semi-erect. Obeying the commanding words of the Succubus.

“Such a good little flesh-pet.” The Queen of Damnation purred as she stroked a clawed hand over his back as her hips smacked into his own. “You have taken my administrations well.”

He squirmed under the praise, giving a weak squeeze around the invading cock. Moaning opened mouthed at the stimulation, the Succubus smiled. Standing on her tip-toes she all but mounted the hanging homunculus. Pounding his sensitive hole as the strap-on blurred in and out. Their fluids mix, her sweat running onto his and the nectar of her petals soaking onto the Wyrm cock before dipping into his ass.

To the Devil-boy it felt like liquid lightening greasing up his boy-pussy. He savored every second. Every slick scrape of flesh against flesh. Every twist and jolt of sensation. Every impact of hips as his bucked back against hers. Every caress as the cock scrapped along every inch inside of him. Probing into his core.

“Do you want to cum little pet?” The Succubus panted, a wicked smile that light up her eyes.

“Yes!” The Devil-boy moaned and her thrusts grew faster and faster. His ass all but turned inside out.

The Succubus tisked and leaned down to run her long, pointed tongue in the curves of his ear. “Yes what?”

“Yes Please!” The Devil-boy mewled like an animal in heat. “Please let me cum Mistress!”

“Such a good little flesh pet.” The Queen of Damnation tittered.

The Succubus moved all her weight up over him, stressing the ropes holding the Devil-boy aloft as she got on top of him. Heaving the Wyrm cock in with pounding thrusts, she worked the pleasure hole for all it was worth. All the teasing was gone as the Succubus rubbed against the Devil-boy’s g-spot. His little boy nub bumped again and again by the knobs along the shaft as they crashed into him.

Grabbing hold of the bead handle with her magic, she yanking it out with a series of plops and a small stream of pre-cum that dribbled into a leaking rivulet. The Devil-boy moaned at the sensation, the feel of release knocking against both his doors. Pleasure racing from his head to his nipples, down to his navel where he could feel the draconic shaft pleasuring him to the core, to the twitching walls of his insides and his forced open sphincter, and straight into his cock as every inch of him throbbed with ecstasy.

The Queen of Damnation was not far behind him. She felt every inch of his inner walls as they squelched and clenched against the Wyrm cock. Her petals wept sweet nectar as she plunged into the Devil-boy. Rubbing against his smooth back, her nipples grew hard as she dominated the submissive male. He was at her command. And for this moment in eternity, she owned him.

As the Succubus felt herself screaming to that blissful void she buried the entire cock into the Devil-boy. “Cum for me!” She screamed out her release, her form melding with his.

The command and the feel of her form over his was too much. As the knot mashed against his prostate the Devil-boy arched. Their forms as one, taunt as a bow as both reached orgasm. The Devil-boy screamed like a girl reaching her first orgasm, body clenching and twitching. Submitting and overridden by a consuming wave of sensuous serenity. His ass milked the dry Wyrm shaft, twerking around it as it ground down on his prostate. The Succubi’s formed throbbed with heated sensations as her climax mixed with that of her victim. Her pussy jetted with her fluids as she cried out her release. A fount of pearly cum shot from the Devil-boy’s shaft as he mingled his cry of ecstasy with that of his disciplinarian. The seemingly endless thick shot of cum flowed like syrup and pooled onto the floor below them. Both of them eased down with grunts and bucks as their climaxed slowly ceased for the moment.

A white stream of thick sperm trickled like a small waterfall into a growing puddle below. The Succubus lay there for a while, panting with a smile of delight on her face. She could not remember reaching such a wondrous end with any of her other partners save her Lord Diluvius. It was sweet and smooth, yet at the same time wild and passionate. Equal parts good and bad. A rare flavor for certain.

She gently ran her hands along the homunculus’s chest, teasing a little at the clamps and rubbing her still hard buds against his back. Beneath his silken skin the flesh-pet twitched at the stimulation. Eager for more yet mindful of the Queen of Damnation’s wishes.

Licking a rivulet of sweat of his back she purred. “That was wonderful little pet.”

Again he shuddered at her voice and his insides squeezed around the phallus still lodged in him. She moaned out a throaty chuckle as she receded from him, easing back off his rear until her clawed toes touched the floor and her toned form delicately settled on the ground.

As she slid off the used strap-on the Succubus found herself craving more of this hedonistic toy. And she would. However, there were promises to keep. Not to say that she could do both. She motioned to an object in the darkness and the servants brought forward an hourglass as thick as a wine barrel and as tall as a man. Stalking around the homunculus she dragged a finger lightly up his form until she reached his face.

Taking his face in both hands she glowed with shameless hunger. “You have proven to be obedient little pet.” She leaned forward to whisper in his hood covered ear. “I have lots of training left to do, but remember this. For giving yourself to pleasuring me I will reward you.”

With a whimper shaking from his lips the Queen of Damnation grinned from ear to ear, turning to her attendants and nodded. Bowing to their mistress they rotated the sandglass and the grains began pouring slowly into the bottom.

“Now where were we?”

 

 

Six hundred and seventy-three turns later the Queen of Damnation considered her work completed. Although she was one of the most talented sex mistresses of Hell, even she could not claim full achievement for this success. Lord Balthat’s homunculus was naturally attuned to this path. He learned quickly, and keenly at that. Before turn two hundred he had learned exactly what was expected of him and was even anticipating her commands. By three hundred she had only to feel a certain way and the homunculus would catch on. While he had not worn her out, the Succubus knew that the homunculus would have to adapt to do anything and everything his master would require of him. As such, she had her entourage allay themselves of the homunculus however they wished. Occasionally she had given a few instructions or dictated how she wanted them to proceed, but she left most of the deviations up to them. The homunculus never faltered. He gave pleasure to the sexual demons as if it was his one and only calling. It made the Succubus smile to witness one so devoted as herself. 

The Succubus surveyed her work. Bound and stretched, elevated off the floor just as he was when she entered. Sweat gleamed like oil on his skin. Weighted needle hoops dragged his small breasts toward the ground. With a ball gag in his mouth he breathed heavily. The Succubus had kept her promise and put the Embyrwi back inside of him. She had also pushed the sphere of pulsation inside him and sealed off his boy-pussy with the animated lamia’s tongue connected to a clenching harness. The coiling cock cage still bound his flaccid, but leaking rod.

On her command the chamber doors were opened and Lord Balthat was inquired of. The Demon Lord apparated in blue flamed smoke just outside the doors and strode in clade in his usual ware. His worn brown robe billowed slightly as he strode forward and inspected the Queen of Damnation’s work. At the familiar touch of the Demon Lord’s presence the Devil-boy immediately latched onto the feeling. He was like a loyal bitch. Patiently awaiting his turn to be mounted by his master. Yet so eager it was almost palatable.

“Well done indeed.” His finger stroked the Devil-boy’s cheek and his pet turned into it, rubbing his cheek against the contact. “Truly, this is more than I had ever hoped. You have my gratitude Hand of Diluvius.”

“Please, Lord Balthat, your praise is received but not necessary.” The Succubus purred as she had her servants gather up her things. “I cannot take complete credit for the homunculi’s conditioning. He was a very quick learner, as you can see. Even now he knows who his true master is. Although, Lord Balthat, I was quite surprised. You put additional organs in him that are not aligned to his sex.”

The Demon Lord smiled in mirth. “One never knows when they will need to have a suitable heir. With the additional womb I have placed in him, he can take my seed and bear me a successor.”

“Why not lay with one of your servants?” The Succubus pushed a little, curious about the Demon Lord’s intentions. “A life born from this artificial form will not give you the same strengths as one born from a demon’s womb. So why place one within this homunculus?”

“True.” Lord Balthat mused. “But the readiness and speed of the artificial process is more to my liking. And I have a preference for the male form. It is easier on mine own eyes.”

“As you say.” The Succubus said. “Then I will take my leave as I have fulfilled your request to the letter.”

“Never the less, it is I who am in your debt now.” The Demon Lord seemed to hesitate slightly in admitting the words. “Is there any one thing you so desire that my realm can offer?”

The Succubus was taken aback but also quick to pounce on the opportunity. “Any one thing? Very well. If, in the future, a priest in your kingdom on Tylon chances corruption to save his precious little flock I lay claim to his soul.”

“Specific and peculiar as always o’ Queen of Damnation.” Balthat smiled as he bowed his head in acknowledgement of the deal.

“Peculiarity is a way to stay sane in this eternal damnation.” The Succubus smiled back. “And it provides me toys to play with when my Lord Diluvius is not around.”

“Very well then. As you say.” The Demon Lord withdrew a blob of black-red wax, imprinted his signet upon it, and spoke a few words before handing it to his debtor. “Agreement to the contract.”

Pleased, the Succubus took the ball of wax and made her exit. Before following her, Balthat carefully removed the hood from the Devil-boy’s face. He whispered in his pet’s ear to watch and memorize the form of the Queen of Damnation. It would be useful later. Perhaps when Balthat stood atop the heirless and void corpses of several other Demon Lords, Lord Diluvius would recognize him. And the House of Dinylus Sköll would acknowledge him. Another step closer to his goal.

After sending the Queen of Damnation off the Demon Lord had his own servants clean the Devil-boy up and send him to the throne room where Balthat would be waiting when he was done.

Sitting alone in the grey rock hall overlooking the lake of fire, Demon Lord Balthat slouched on his molten stone throne. Only the glowing red of the magma below and a pair of blue flamed torches allowed some light in the long-shadowed room. He did not have to wait long before the arched doors opened briefly to allow his pet to enter the narrow hall.

The Devil-boy was beautiful beyond the Demon Lord’s comprehension. His form was growing more graceful and corrupted every moment. Silken skin had paled and was rapidly turning a light blue that seemed to fluctuate in shade as well as spectrum. One moment it would deepen to a deep sea blue, another it would lighten to teal. Almost a trick of the light, or the mind.

A pair veined spots pulsed a sickening hue of blue and out of them, pointed spikes protruded from his forehead. The Devil-boy’s teeth were eerily clean, and seemed sharp in appearance. His eyes no longer bore the semblance of his former humanity. Irises red with iron flecks of yellow. Hungrily staring at his master as the Devil-boy swayed toward the throne. The attendants had tied a sarong loosely around his hips as before, translucent red with a border of golden emblems along the tasseled hem. Circling his thin waist and toned abdomen was a black pearl bead string. The jeweled string erotically encircled the Devil-boy’s belly, resting just below his navel. Alluring slightly to the pleasurable breeding organs that had been placed beneath the enticing flesh. A purple ribbon laced around his chest in a cross neck top but unable to hide the areolae and nipples that pressed urgently against the material. In keeping with the Demon Lord’s tastes, a thin posture collar was fitted around the Devil-boy’s neck. The head of a Wyrm for the knob as it ate a circular scroll that was set as the ring.

The Demon Lord felt a twinge in stir his loincloth and nodded in approval. The Devil-boy could pass very well as an Incubus if one did not know better. Chaos and corruption would be sure to alter some of this terrible beauty but at least a part of it would remain.

His pet teased his master playfully and just the way he liked it. Sashaying those birth worthy hips, the slim waist, and the toned legs back and forth. Perky, pubescent breasts eagerly awaiting attention. Lips slightly apart and feminine face alluring to more deviant things. His eyes had little trace of reason left in them. The look in them that of a born bitch, begging to be taken.

As the Devil-boy drew closer Balthat felt his presence butted up against that of his pet. The sexual lust apparent as the Devil-boy’s intent pushed to appease his master, to stir Lord Balthat into arousal. Balthat smirked to himself as he allowed the aura to affect his own physiology. His pet was indeed growing. Strength not yet on par with that of a Demon Lord but perhaps a Nephilim, the corrupted mortal beings that swore fealty to Demon Lords. Or perhaps even a Fallen Angel.

Seeking out the what the mortals sometimes referred to as the Sacral Chakra point, the sexual aura stirred the Demon Lord’s loins. The great demon king grinned a little as he allowed himself to tense and heat stirred within him. His loincloth perked up with his rising flesh and soon dropped to one side. Balthat was pleased. It was by no means an easy thing to simply arouse a Demon Lord through will and seduction alone, even if one allowed it.

The semi-flaccid rod was massive to say the least. A little thicker than the Devil-boy’s fist and longer than his forearm, and it was not fully erect yet. It probably was twelve inches at least. His uncircumcised foreskin overlapping a bulbous black head. Glowing yellow precum wept out of the winking slit as heat began to build between the two powerful beings.

Then the Devil-boy slid sensuously to his knees before the towering demon hood and the tension of power was gone. A cool air seemed to waif about them as the former human leaned forward, his back arching and feminine breasts perking, and gently kissed his master’s cock where the underside met the glans. Balthat felt the Devil-boy’s presence flatten itself before his own as his pet gazed submissively up at him; Balthat’s girth concealing most of that sweet face from the Demon Lord’s view.

No words were passed between them as master and pet acknowledged each other’s positions. One would give, the other would receive. One held the power, the other would obey. With his master’s unspoken permission, the Devil-boy brought his soft hands forward to grasp the large demon cock. Dexterous fingers played as symphony of pleasure up and down the shaft as a skilled tongue teased the ring of flesh that still covered the swollen head. The Devil-boy’s large red-yellow eyes looked up to behold his master’s face, meekly waiting for a confirmation.

A smirk from his Lord told the pet he would have to urge his master into permission. Swirling his tongue around the urethrae before curling it under the Demon Lord’s foreskin, the Devil-boy accepted his master’s command. Velvet lips kissed and caressed the cock head around and around. Before long the throbbing glans looked like a shining black pearl, slick with glittering saliva. The Devil-boy reached down with his right to clasp the great globules of flesh that held his master’s potent, golden demon seed. Balthat only shifted slightly at the sudden attention to his loins. Seeing all was well with his master the Devil-boy proceeded. A single delicate finger traced like a feather up from the base along the bulging urethrae tube overlaid with flesh. Slowly, softly, the finger teased its way up the underside of the Demon Lord’s shaft. The Devil-boy’s quick, warm tongue kept lathering the spot where glans met shaft as he kept his master’s attention divided between two different points of pleasure. Reaching fully erect the massive cock strained and throbbed as the deft thing finger slowly worked all the way up the two-foot shaft to meet the enticing tongue.

A surprised groan rumbled from the Demon Lord as the tantalizing traveler reached the end of its journey. The Devil-boy knew that his master had been with the most experienced and skillful of lovers. His surprise was all the confirmation the formerly human pet needed.

Soft hands stroked up and down as much of the thick demon cock as the Devil-boy could grasp, thumbs giving a feather-touched massage as they moved along the center. Eyes closes, the Devil-boy began to suckle on the black head and focusing on Balthat’s urethrae. His quick tongue licked and stroked at the opening as more precum leaked out to fill his mouth before the Demon Lord’s pet quickly swallowed the watery seed down his hungry throat.

The Devil-boy changed patterns and began slowly kissing his way down the demonic cock; lips nipping and tugging at the strained skin and right hand curling and rubbing all inside Balthat’s foreskin.

Elicited moans echoed as the Demon Lord basked in the worship of his wondrous pet. The Devil-boy reached down with his left to grope one of Balthat’s melon-sized balls. Fondling the massive seed laden orb in his long, thin fingers. Then his warm, wet tongue slithered out between sharp teeth and kissing lips to lap at the throbbing shaft. With an open-mouthed lick, the Devil-boy lathered a trail of saliva down his master’s cock to his ministrations at his master’s balls. Lifting one of the hefty orbs in one hand the Devil-boy huffed and breathed in the thick smell of the Demon Lord’s flesh. Then tentatively he took his treasure in an open-mouthed kiss.

Moving his right arm away from Balthat’s cockhead to stroke the underside of the shaft up and down, the Devil-boy proceeded to slather his tongue all over his master’s loins. Kissing, suckling, and groping the loaded globules with all the passion in his being. The Demon Lord’s loins glistened with feverish worship from his pet’s warm, velveteen mouth as the Devil-boy’s blue feminine hand stroked up and down, coaxing that lustful seed from deep within. Glowing yellow precum wept from the demonic cock and fell in a quaking waterfall onto the Devil-boy’s blue back, eliciting hisses and feminine moans of pleasure from the Demon Lord’s faithful pet at the hot essence pouring onto his flesh.

Beneath his sarong, the Devil-boy’s ass squelched and oozed a clear fluid tinged slightly blue. His ass now corrupted into a self-lubricating boy-pussy that leaked and ached for his master’s veined penis. The mere thought and presence of it made the feminine Devil-boy wet both inside and out. With the Queen of Damnation’s instructions fresh upon his body, his boyhood remained bowed over his own slightly enlarged loins. The pet was to service his master and only feel release at his master’s command.

The Devil-boy pulled back with a gasp of air, his red-yellow eyes wide and swimming with lust as his hands still tended to his master’s increasing need.

Balthat opened his eyes and looked down to see hunger evident in his pet’s form. The Devil-boy’s eyes staring back at him like a large cat ready to pounce. The Demon Lord chuckled and nodded. He would not touch his pet; the former human would administer to his master’s need of his own will. And be subjected to him of his own volition.

Eagerly the Devil-boy lunged forward and pressed Balthat’s cockhead into his mouth. The huge head made the struggle slow going but the Demon Lord’s pet was loyal to a fault. Making sure to not let the throbbing flesh catch on his teeth, the Devil-boy closed his eyes and hollowed his cheeks. Using his own body’s suction to pull the cock deeper into him, the Devil-boy’s tongue slithered and swirled all around the demon hood as he pushed it further in. Lips straining into thin lines, his mouth threatened to unhinge entirely as he swallowed more and more of Balthat’s manhood.

The Demon Lord knew that even that would not seriously injure his pet and would only encourage him to work more of it into his lithe form. Balthat shuddered and groaned as he felt his tip reach the back of his pet’s mouth. It was like a wet, gooey sleeve constricting around him. Then a tactile tongue flashed across his flesh, stroking and dancing against the pulsing demon hood. Left speechless, Balthat groaned his appeasement at the Devil-boy’s work. The vibrations shook through him and into the Devil-boy, causing his small frame to shudder in ecstasy as he moaned around his master’s massive cock.

Balthat could sense the growing sensations echoing throughout his pet’s body and the scent of his feminine arousal floated faintly in the air like an elusive incense. As the Devil-boy bobbed his head up and down the scant few inches he could take, Balthat felt his own need drawing close. He was impressed and proud that his pet could draw out his lust and bring forth his seed so readily without the Demon Lord noticing.

He stared down at his creation as the Devil-boy’s eyes opened in a begging, prayerful plea to his master. The Demon Lord chuckled to himself, now was the time. His voice rumbled throughout the grey stone cloister, “My servant, my loyal foremost pet, apple of my eye and jewel of my treasury, flame of my consuming desire. My Devil-boy. Do you accept me wholly and completely as your master, your lord, your god? Do you submit to my life and death with all your being? To become a denizen of Hell, and avatar of chaos and corruption.”

The Devil-boy removed his hands from his master’s shaft to place them plaintively on his lap. Giving one last suck the former human closed his eyes, hollowed out his cheeks, and bore down on his master’s extraordinary cock. He bobbed his head down until the head leaked precum down his throat and dragged slowly back up, keeping pressure as he went until he came off of the demon hood with a pop. A single thick string of golden semen swirled and arched in the air as the Devil-boy’s lips came up, tilting his head back as beads of saliva and gold glittered in the light. His eyes closed and lips slightly parted in a pout, the Devil-boy opened his mouth to show off the thick yellow precum that floated around behind his soft lips. The lips sealed again over the lewd sight before being swallowed down in an audible gulp.

Red-yellow eyes opened and gazed submissively up at the Demon Lord as a melodic voice whispered out from his soft throat.

“Yes.”

Balthat grunted and smiled as he stood up from his throne, both hands already working his shaft; his release growing close as he beckoned forth his seed from his loins. “Then I Balthat, Demon Lord of Scholasticism and Knowledge and Thought and Reason-” Balthat grunted as his heavy orbs tightened and clenched. “Anoint and baptize you, my slave and pet and servant, Devil-boy! And claim you mine! RAAAAAAAAGH!”

The Demon Lord threw back his head and groaned. A fount of golden cum erupted from his shaft, spewing into the air like a lecherous geyser to fall upon his pet. The Devil-boy knelt submissively on the floor, head back and eyes closed, with his mouth wide open and tongue lolling out eager to accept his Lord’s blessing; his thin hands cupped and raised in worship to catch whatever his mouth missed. The hallowed cum shower fell in thick globs and streams down onto him, bathing his form and the floor around him in glowing golden ropes of thick cum. With warm seed painting his body the Devil boy was brought to his own spasming orgasm. His pucker clenched as he shuddered in bliss, lightning arching from his core and wetness soaking down from his ass to his feet and onto the stone floor.

Balthat watched with immense satisfaction, and a small bit of pride, as his pet’s body began to transform. The orgasmic moment, the demonic release, and blaspheming baptism all culminating in the Devil-boy’s final transgression. It sealed his fate to the damnation that was Hell. Chained to an infernal existence for eternity.

The Demon Lord witnessed the final birth of his weapon. Smoky auburn hair flowed down like a river and seemed to shine brighter than the finest silk as it grew down past his scapula, curling into small locks as it went. His facial features remained sharp but permanently formed soft curves that accentuated his femininity. His appearance from graceful neck to face was that of a young maiden. Narrow set shoulders and chest, a slim waist, and broad hips enhance the impression of womanhood.

His lithe form did not lack muscle, just compacted it. Muscle like iron bands laced throughout his body. Small yet coiling tightly beneath smooth velvet skin. Breasts not quite that of a young maiden formed in adolescent puberty on his chest; somehow female in shape yet founded in muscle. Smooth, fatty organs turned up like sloped hills; over lacing fibrous power. Curved with lewd modesty; a slight swelling that could be nothing else.  While they were not culpable to the hand yet, there was a definitive curved of a developing bosom. A graceful thing of exotic softness that was never found in the form of true men. But as the Incubi blood flowed through his veins the Devil-boy had broken out of all normalcy. Somewhere between the muscled chest of a youth and the blossoming bosom of a maiden not yet fully grown into womanhood. Balthat mused that they would most certainly jive with activity but require no restraining cloth as they were too diminutive.

Darker blue areolae the size of large apple flowers blossomed around dewdrop nipple buds already stiff with anticipation. Small ringlets marked the boundaries between prized flesh and the squeezable breast beyond; small bumps like a fairy ring encircled the inside between bud and ring, mystical and enchanting the so small a thing. His form would bring any woman to envy as to how it accentuated strength and sexuality, raw and potent power. Apparent abdominal muscles showed from his sternum down past where the sarong covered the Devil-boy’s luscious hips and boyhood. His ass was toned but still had an impression of squeezable flesh, bubbling out slightly from beneath the scarlet cloth. His legs were long and graceful, eliciting sensuous and pliable curves as they formed into slim ankles and narrow feet. His legs, Balthat noted, were more muscular than his arms giving him a dagger-like figure. Perhaps out of self-projected preference or that of his masters.

Tinted skin covered his lean form, a pale sky blue that darkened to a lapis or azure around his shoulders and upper back down the middle. Several spots like a leopard or jaguar dotted down to his hips along his spine, and a little along his back. However, none truly reached his ribbed sides or front that grew to a lighter color of blue. The newly christened flesh was entirely hairless save for the head of luscious auburn locks, heavy lashes, and thin brows.

An erect phallus saluted its master as it jutted out, pushing aside the cover of the sarong. It was longer than the average mortal but not of exorbitant length. The 8-inch length was a couple inches thick with a light aquamarine hue, rising to a teal colored and plow shaped head. Along the underside of the thick length were several arrow shaped ridges that furrowed along the soft skin. Only five in number, they were equal in proportion as they were space along the shaft. Each was too natural to be bone and was formed of some sort of cartilage that swelled with the Devil-boy’s erection. The corrupted crests pointing to the bare cockhead. Beneath the erect rod lay a pair of peach size balls covered in silken lapis lazuli skin without blemish or wrinkle. With these gifts the Devil-boy could fertilize any female in the land.  

For a second it appeared that the Devil-boy had applied cyan colored eyeliner above his eyes, curling around the eyelid and brow bone to thickly sweep to the side like a dagger. Balthat thought the technique was called ‘winehouse’ or ‘drop eye’, but this sported more color along the underside of the eyebrow. The Devil-boy’s lips were even and slightly thin, but still managed to part barely in a heady innocent look. They too changed for a moment, from berry to a silvery glazed color. But only for a moment. Then they were gone. Lush eyelashes darkly crowned his closed eyes as dark red cirrus eyebrows lightly wisped above them. Behind his luscious and kissable lips were unnaturally white teeth, neat and perfectly aligned. The only concern was the sharp sets of canines that had grown longer than the others.

From behind him, piercing through his sarong, a pair of bone-plated tails grew. Each four feet in length yet ending in sharp points formed of hardened bone. The spots on his forehead burst as a pair of ridged horns turned back and then forward slightly at the tips, forming an uneven ‘s’ shape. They stood tall and proud, neither bending inward or to the sides. Though they were shorter and more curved, they reminded Balthat of a Thomson’s Gazelle or Swala Tomi in Swahili. The main difference besides being shorter was that they were a pitch-black color and glowing a faint red underneath the ridges as if formed of burnt charcoal that still held angered heat beneath blackened skin. Never the less, Balthat knew that the horns would be harder than any metal mortal man could find or make.

Shuddering a bit, the Devil-boy moaned in pain as the final touches took place. A demon, a true demon of Hell, was not impervious to pain but knew that it was just as vital a thing to their existence as pleasure. The Devil-boy would soon learn that. A pair of black feathered wings grew out of his back at the shoulder blades. Connected by three joints from wingtip to base, the wings also had bone-like plates that seemed to coat the upper sections like armor then along the wing’s Radius and Humerus bones. Perhaps a deterrent or even natural shielding. Balthat also noted the lack of the usual Propatagium Tendon found in other avian variants yet the wings seemed to work perfectly without. Along the length of each feather the rachis, the calamis, and barbs closest to, all pulsed a faint green and blue as alien blood pumped through uncatalogued arteries. The eldritch wings arched up in a crescent, unfolding to a wingspan over fifteen feet, so that the feather tips arced over the Demon Lord’s head like a guardian Cheribum. The blaspheming imagery was not lost on Balthat as he looked with awe upon his creation.  

The Devil-boy’s eyes opened and cross shaped pupils surrounded by the same red-yellow irises gazed up at him. A voice so melodic, so sweet and unnaturally pleasing flowed like honey from the soft throat. Silvery words echoed through the air, “Is my form to my masters liking?”

A thunderous laugh shook the grey cloister and rang throughout the Demon Lord’s kingdom. Balthat looked into the eyes of his prefect pet as he caressed his chin with boney fingers. “You are everything I need.”

The Demon Lord knelt, his pet’s dark glowing wings arcing above them both, and kissed the Devil-boy deeply. Taking every scent and taste of his pet’s soft, alluring flesh. And the Devil-boy kissed him back, taking his Lord deep in his mouth and pressing into his dominant form.

 

 

 

 

<Chapter 4>

 

Birds sang as the wind whispered through branch and leaf. Sun shone in golden rays as vibrant flowers of all kinds opened up to receive their warmth. Here and there insects danced to the breeze’s tune. In the distance, just behind rolling hills and steep bluffs topped with forest green, a plume of smoke could be seen rising from a view obstructed city.

And before this large mound of a hill crowded thick briar patches mixing toxically with the forest bushes. A narrow path led back south toward civilization and ended in this overgrown clearing at a dried up well. Eyes watched as a disguised nobleman along with his trusted wizard hesitantly walked to the well.

Behind brambles and briars the Devil-boy crouched with his hands to the ground, keening softly as his lord plied his slick backdoor. The Demon Lord Balthat sat under a maple tree with his back rested against the trunk. His middle fingers several knuckles deep in his pet’s ass as his other groped the Devil-boy’s blue muscular rear. The newly born demon’s erection throbbed underneath him, slapping up into his toned belly as it twitched and he jerked slightly at his master’s attentions. It pleased the Demon Lord to see his pet debasing himself, becoming hard at the simple touch of having his ass played with and his balls dangling precariously in the open air for all to see.

“Tell me, my beloved pet,” Balthat rumbled low, bushy eyebrows pushing up and his head quills wiggling ever so slightly. “This alluring mortal paradise whose ambiance is likened to that of your old home, what do you make of it?”

“I think it would good in red.” The Devil-boy groaned as Balthat’s fingers passed over his prostate, his red-yellow eyes never leaving the land around him.

The Demon Lord chuckled in dark mirth. “Indeed. It will be such a sight to see. But at the present your lessons must continue. Do you see the two men who have come to the well?”

Nodding the Devil-boy eyed the pair. “Yes, master.”

“They have come from a city to the west, one of the territories claimed by the Olympians, to petition for my attention here. Watch now and witness this.” Slender, wrinkled fingers slid deeper into the Devil-boys succulent ass.

Before the infernal pair the nobleman and his wizard stood before the well hesitant. Then the nobleman drew forth a scroll sealed with his own crest. With his own signet ring, he tossed it into the dry throat and echoing darkness below. Not a sound was made as the objects of contract disappeared from mortal sight forever. A pact with a true demon was binding for eternity.

Unseen to the mortals, Balthat heard and read and reviewed the contract. Gregek Northon had trouble keeping his kingdom secure from the Afrikaz of the southwest plains. In exchange for knowledge to hold back enemies that dared encroach on his kingdom for a thousand seasons, 250 years by Tylons rotation around its sun, the nobleman’s sixth and seventh and eighth son would be given to the Demon Lord to use as he pleased. Balthat thought over the contract, his fingers plying the wet depths of his pet while he stroked his sharp chin. His thumb reached down and around to pull the Devil-boy’s taut erection back till the head pointed to the earth.

Finally, the Demon Lord consented. From the depths of the well a blue flame flickered but once. The nobleman felt a painful itch at his chest and knew that if he looked there would be the image of a dragon with a scroll in its teeth. He was marked now, the Demon Lord Balthat had accepted his contract and sacrifice. Gregek did not know when but soon three of his sons would be taken. They would likewise bear the same mark as he. And in exchange he would receive the knowledge to secure his kingdom from all besieging enemies.

With an impatient huff, Balthat sunk his fingers deep into his pet. He mashed down on the demon’s sensitive prostate so that the Devil-boy moaned like a girl as his seed gushed wastefully onto the ground below him. His shaft and balls useless as he came at the slightest of anal stimulation from his master. The Devil-boy’s ass, thanks to the demonic transformation and endless journeys by the Embyrwi through his bowls, now lubricated itself like a womanhood and had more sensitivity than such. Balthat’s pet could even orgasm with his ass alone, writhing like a slut on the Demon Lord’s mighty pillar. And if one chose to reach deep enough they would find two divergent paths, one leading further into his constricting bowels that twisted to accompany any invader and one leading to the unholy womb which the Demon Lord had placed within his belly. Perhaps one day Balthat would seed a child in that womb and watch as his slave nurtured it in a perverse spectacle of love. But for now he would let the Devil-boy take his seed with only the hope of being fertilized.

Balthat turned his attention to the two men at the well. They looked frightened beyond belief and appeared as deer ready to bolt. He chuckled softly through needle teeth. The Devil-boy’s cry of pleasure must have sounded like a demonic omen to their overly keen and warry ears. The Demon Lord allowed his chuckle to carry as he thumbed his Devil-boy’s still hard cock.

“Such a useless little erection and seed sacks.” He whispered. “Cumming only when your ass is pleasured. Your semen would be better used as a cream than for impregnation.”

The newly born demon mewled in pathetic submission which caused Balthat to chuckle again. His pet clenched his ass against the Demon Lord’s fingers causing a squelch. No matter if he was surrounded by the most beautiful or seductive persons in all of Heaven and Hell, the Devil-boy would pine for Balthat and Balthat alone.

“That’s a good little pet, aren’t you?”

A mewling purr was the Devil-boy’s response and he looked back at his master with innocent eyes. Cross shaped iris glittered in questioning hunger.

“Come my pet,” Balthat withdrew his fingers with a suckling pop and a moan from the Devil-boy, and stood. “Let us return to our abode. There is still much for you to learn. More way in which you may grow.”

The Devil-boy sidled up to his master, darkened wings sprouting from his back and bone-plated tails from his rear. In a wisp of blue flame and ashen smoke the pair disappeared. Gregek and his wizard had ran long before their departure. Only the sounds of the forest and its inhabitants were heard as they echoed through the trees.

 

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As promised three of the six sons of Gregek, now with souls damned to Hell, were taken to the furthest depths of the Infernal plane where they would serve Balthat until he saw fit to release their pitiful existence to the endless cycle of the Creator. For once one had surrendered their being to a Demon Lord in binding contract there was no reclaiming them. Such a person was as good as dead.

Each son was different in some subtle way: hair, eyes, nose, mouth, or any number of bodily details. The Demon Lord mused that it was either because their father took many wives or that the man’s particular genetic tree had decided to branch out with his succeeding generation. It mattered little now.

The Demon Lord’s attention was elsewhere with his weapon. The Devil-boy was his primary concern until he was complete. At the moment he only was as strong as one of the Thrones of Hell, the Demon Lord’s trusted commanders. He needed to ascend three more ranks of power to contest with the gods of chaos. To be sure the advantage of a living soul, an existing thing that was capable of growing and adapting to an environment, was making itself more and more abundant. However, such fateful graces would not last forever. The weapon needed more power. But how did one grant the power of a god to a mortal, even if they had an immortal soul?

A difficult dilemma, even for one such as himself. In truth there were a few things acting in his favor. The Creator had made creation of himself, in his likeness and according to his will. Humans and other beings, especially his first children the Demon Lords and Olympians, were born with this talent no matter how latent. It was what inspired mortals and immortals alike to discover, think, and create. To imagine things beyond their reach and strive to make such things happen. Demon Lords and Olympians were the ones who inherited the final blessing from their father, the ability to create. However, locked in this prison and eternal conflict all the Demon Lords could do was fiddle with the strings of fate ever looking for an advantage. Only the Olympians held the unbridled power the Creator had granted his first children.

And now Balthat had to construct a way to instill such a gift within a mortal. Then it dawned upon him.

_Of course! All this time looking at a problem from all the wrong angles except the simplest one._ The Demon Lord of Scholasticism smirked to himself. _I do not have to find a way to build another Demon Lord. I only have to make one._

In truth Demon Lords had made things before, each generation of succeeding Demon Lords was only a vessel of skin worn by the original’s power, and even the race of demons themselves were creations made by various Demon Lords to fill their ranks. Goblins, Giants, Ogres, Orcs, and even Lamia were created from the minds and wills of the Demon Lords.

However, creating a new god was something none had ever attempted before. It bordered on insanity to attempt such a thing. Yet it had to be done. Balthat knew the other Demon Lords, and perhaps even the Olympians would take notice. There would be no hiding this. But perhaps it could be disguised. The transfer of power from one Demon Lord to their successor had a similar effect. If the others perceived it as such they would have no warning as his weapon rained destruction down upon them. Yes, the others would be helpless before the Devil-boy and the Olympians as well. With his already powerful might and the living soul feeding into the power of a god, nothing could stop the Devil-boy.

 

 

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Sickening green light lit the sharp walls of the dark stone cavern. Though it was perhaps the origin of the light that was more grotesque. Hundreds upon thousands of bubbly eggs of every size covered the swirling sides of the grotto. Within each hummed an insectoid life and in the larger ones, as massive as small boulders, the swirling shadows of the larvae could be seen with glowing green eyes.

Blathat strode unafraid down the center of the massive cavern chamber with the Devil-boy meekly pattering by his side. He wished to give his pet a further understanding of his kingdom and the resources it afforded him. After all, the Devil-boy would be the one to lead the Demon Lord’s armies and not Balthat himself. First would come Tylon and then perhaps expand his reach in Hell. Eventually they would reach for the sky to smite the Olympians and cast them down like falling stars.

“The good master honorz uss with hiz presences.” A hissing, clicking voice came from the furthest reaches of green encroached shadow; odd and somewhat feminine in structure.

A sound of scuttling limbs and from the depths an aberration appeared. The Stryxz were insectoids, an estranged combination of arachnid and centipede. Their forebody was like that of a spider with sharp carapace legs, but the following abdomen was that of a heavily armored centipede with row upon row of razor armored legs. Between the impressive fangs were a bundle of smaller chittering mandibles. Four eyes in diagonal rows of two stared back not from the front like a spider but further to the sides of the Stryxz’s plated head. Mortals believed the Stryxz guarded the entrance to Hell along the river Styx; naming the aberrant insects in like manner though it was far from the truth. Frn-Hnds or Fire Hounds in the common tongue were the scavengers of the Hellish Styx as there was no need for guards.

“How fare you Mathrix?” Balthat greeted the gigantic Stryxz that approached them in simple Ymp, the language of Implysh or Imps as they were more commonly known to mortals.

The insect hissed and clicked as she answered in her disjointed speech. “My children thrive in gratitudes of your hospitality and keep to the contract of which you granted uss.”

“Good, good. My blessing on your brood that they may become as excellent hunters as their mother.” The Demon Lord motioned for the Devil-boy to step forward. “I have also found blessing in my brood.”

Mathrix scuttled a bit closer, her size dwarfing that of both Demon Lord and his pet. “Indeed,” The mother of the Stryxz hissed. “I smell your scentz upon him my lord. And from him I feel great power. Iz he of your seed, my lord?”

“No but his is of me in another sense.” He chuckled as he caressed the Devil-boy’s cheek with the back of his hand. “This one will do many mighty and terrible things, Mathrix. I wish you to recognize him as my heir, for he will make great my name and kingdom.”

“As my lord wishess, so it shall be.” The great Stryxz bowed low her head. “For eternity my children shall serve under your heir and the name Demon Lord Balthat.”

The Demon Lord grinned with needled teeth as he nodded. “My thanks to you Mathrix, you have always served me with unwavering loyalty.”

“Not at all my lord,” The bowing Stryxz replied. “For it iz you who have my thankss.”

“We must be off then, I have further matters of which to instruct my heir.” Balthat and the Devil-boy dissipated within a cloud of smoke and blue flame.

In an instant, they were back within the Demon Lord’s throne room. With somewhat grotesque grace, Balthat swept up his forever rotting robe and sat upon his throne. By his side the Devil-boy knelt with his hands in his lap as he plaintively waited for his masters next instruction. Dark wings of pulsing blue and green arched like a Seraph while the Devil-boy grew unnaturally still. He became as a living statue facing the far doorway with deceiving indifference. With lazed effort, Balthat clapped his boney hands thrice and in a puff of black smoke an Ifrit appeared cloaked in ashen haze.

“Bring before me the instructors of my weapon and his opponents, large and small. None are to be excluded. Seek those that formed him and molded him. Deliver this message unto them, ‘the hour of our victory draws near and to feast upon newly born flesh of the tainted is the reward I give unto you’.” The Demon Lord waved his hand and the hellish Ifrit vanished into smoke.

It did not take long before his chosen were announced at the throne room door. Nephilim Arkrinas the Warrior and Gryssjr the Commander both in their battle gear knelt before their lord. The brutish Cambions of Troll and Demon heritage that the Devil-boy had fought in the arena. Implysh that tortured the Devil-boy when he was still known to be human. Bythnit and Rhuggana Mexhori of the House of Uhlin, the Succubus and Incubus siblings who had been the Devil-boy’s instructors in the courts and etiquette of Hell. Ghulla, Throne of Confusion, came as he was the strategist who had taught the master’s new pet any and all tactics he would need to know. The troop of Belials, common demons, who had gone with Gryssjr to collect the former human. Neethka the Fallen Angel and instructor on the ways of Celestials. Ahrulla, Nephilim and master of the hunt in Balthat’s court, who acted as the Devil-boy’s tutor to the world of Tylon. The Ifrit Ahridshamin as instructor of magics and Throne of Ritual. And finally the lone sentry who had brought the former human to Balthat’s attention, Zkairas and his Laocaon serpent.

With a wave of his hand the Demon Lord beckoned the Devil-boy to kneel before his honored teachers and tutors. Gracefully did the devil place himself with wings of glittering darkness, his body of the color of tainted sky and tails of sharp plated bone. His head remained bowed and red-yellow eyes closed beneath locks of smoky auburn hair. Thin succulent lips glittered a faint silver in the glow of the magma lake far below. Around his eyes a shadow of teal formed as a ‘wine house’ that curled below then dropped from his eyelids. He was the picturesque beauty and the servant’s hearts leapt with hunger as they lusted after him.

“My servants,” Balthat’s voice rumbled through the long-shadowed room as the doors closed. “The hour of conquest is nigh upon us. Each has shown their loyalty and dedication to the full amount. Each has given their love through duty. Now I give this love back to you. From my chosen vessel partake pleasure for the toils you have done. Sate your hunger and await the coming hour, for it comes quickly when man knows not.”

A choir of voices, melodic, rough, shrill, noble, sensuous, playful, dutiful, nasal, horrendous, powerful, and soft all echoed in unison. “Hail Lord Balthat, Thinker of Many Paths.”

Then in a seemingly slow flurry, the Devil-boy appeared to be devoured by a wave of hungry flesh. Balthat watched as his scion, his weapon, the avatar of his will was lifted up and willingly violated on the sexes of those who had molded him.

The twins, Bythnit and Rhuggana, with skin of white granite were at the Devil-boy’s hips. While her brother suckled the seedy orbs beneath, Rhuggana claimed the virgin cock for herself as she pulled the Devil-boy onto all fours to bury himself in her womanhood. The Succubi’s arms wrapped around the Devil-boys back as she opened her slender legs for him like a flower opens its petals. It did not take long for others to claim their places.

The Nephilim came next. Ahrulla positioned her muscular body in front, roughly seized the boy’s head and mashed her cunt to his mouth. Arkrinas and Gryssjr, ever the competitors, stood to either side as slender blue-skinned hands reached beneath loincloths to stroke their manhoods. A knowing glare passed between the two Nephilim, he who came first would surrender his place sodomizing Lord Balthat’s prize.

Slate skinned Neethka came forward next. The Fallen Angel placed himself over the boy’s back and straddled himself between those darkened wings. He loosened his robe and shirked his loincloth as he crouched. His thick, hardened phallus lay against the Devil-boy’s back. A hot tubular rod and pair of wrinkled sacks resting against silken blue flesh. Neethka’s own wings, tattered and burnt, stretched out behind him. The deep purple feathers glowed with incurable stains of ash streaking along them. How the Fallen Angel wished to break and tear at these wings, but the master would think less of him for it. So the depraved and corrupt Angel enacted his jealousy in other ways. Neethka guided his cock between the black banners growing from the boys back and rutted the dark velveteen feathers.

Honor of the first seeding was given to the lowly Belial and his Laocaon pet. Talons clicked on the stone floor as Zkairas approached on avian feet. With clawed, scaly hands he shifted the voluptuous fleshy cheeks aside to reveal the luscious budding rose beneath. The tight seal appeared as if it had never been broached or claimed, and the demon hesitated. Zkairas stole a quick glance back to his lord. Balthat was sitting on his throne, a feminine Ifrite cloaked in white ash stroking his ever-growing manhood. The Demon Lord’s eyes met his and smirked. The lowly Belial bowed his head and swallowed thickly. Fur on Zkairas’ scaled shoulders stood on end as he dropped his trousers and grasped his cock with one hand. With his right he pushed one lovely cheek to the side as he stroked his cockhead up and down the Devil-boy’s crack. The smell of hedonism filled the air and Zkairas breathed deep. He was given this place of honor and he would partake with thanks. Boldness filled his black heart and he gave the former human a smack that sent him driving into the moaning Succubus below. Renewed with vindication, he pulled the tight ring with the claw of his thumb to find it delightfully turquoise in color. A dewdrop of clear liquid wept from the back hole and slowly curled down to the scrotum where it was promptly suckled up by Bythnit’s unwavering attention. Zkairas narrowed his yellow eyes and grasped the other cheek, flesh squeezed between his fingers like a soft pillow. With the claws of his thumbs he hooked open the boy’s rosebud and, carefully aligning his hips, stuck his half-hard cock to the entrance before plunging in.

A feminine moan hummed forth from the Devil-boy and vibrated against Ahrulla’s slobbering lower lips. The Nephilim bit her lip as she humped herself against the boy’s mouth, and shuddered as his tongue dance in and around her. Behind her, her a barbed and slender tail whipped about. Her muscled frame trembled with hunger as she let the lord’s chosen worshiped her cunt.

Underneath, Rhuggana moan and wailed in pleasure. Her spread legs buffeted to the side by slow, sensual thrust as the Devil-boy claimed her. His cock plunged to her deepest depths as the ridges grated against her walls with unequal pleasure. Bythnit was curled up under Zkairas, his own shaft bobbing sternly as he suckled on the tight orbs beneath. He noted that the boy’s sack hung close underneath his shaft where as his lord’s hung loose like a sack of large fruits. Never the less, a treat was a treat and he teased at his own erection while slurping loudly at the Devil-boy’s scrotum.

By now both the Nephilim warriors had hardened in the Devil-boy’s hands. Gryssjr bore the frilled penis of a reptile. Across from him Arkrinas hissed as his bristled feline cock throbbed. Gryssjr smirked despite himself. The warrior never could keep his pride tucked. Not even for a lesser male. It was, in part, what had joined the pair in service of their lord. And their welcoming of the present reward.

Neethka had grabbed hold of the boney armor plates along the top of the Devil-boy’s wings, using them as leverage while he soiled the black feathers. Though he had little friction, the teasing touch was enough to excite him and the dark thoughts sifting through his mind spurred him on. He wore a demented smile upon his face as he fucked into the feathered bliss. The ash grey cock leaked and sputtered warm precum down onto the silken back. With great pleasure he stained those beautiful feathers like his own, spreading streaks of creamy filth where the roots grew from the Devil-boy’s back. Giggling slightly to himself as he did.

There was only the gaping abyss before him, Zkairas the demon knew little else. He was caught in the throbbing of pleasure at his hips and it felt like his entire being was centered there. Pulsing in time with his heart beat. Twitching with every jolt of his body. The demon’s cock was both suckled and massaged by the boy’s derriere. His balls swung ever so slightly to smack wetly against the boy’s own sack. Zkairas felt himself lost in the nubile hills and valleys of the boy’s corruptive curves. Even to touch the silken blue flesh sent shivers through him as he ever so slightly bucked back and forth. It felt as if he would cease to be as the lord’s pet sucked the will out of him. There was no resisting or trying to dominate such a force. It was natural to surrender to the waves and ripples around his tightening shaft. Even the bony tails gently welcomed him in their embrace, curling around Zkairas’ hips and thighs.

Zkairas beckoned his pet Laocaon and the serpent coiled up his arm, over his shoulders, and then down the other. In some corner of his mind he heard the Nephilim Ahrulla roar in victory, perhaps even felt the faint sizzling droplets of her excitement flick past the Fallen Angel to strike his cheek. But little else persisted. There was a shuddering as he felt the Fallen Angel coax out a climax upon the boy’s awe some wings. His ass tightened like a snake, devouring and lurching around Zkairas’ demonic organ. The wetness of the boy’s hole dripped and slurched with every motion. A lewd, debauched melody that sang for their lord. Nephilim Arkrinas came next, groaning as the slender hand demanded every last drop from his sacks. Nephilim Gryssjr likewise soon after him. Sudden motions brought Zkairas’ attention to the heavenly valley of white soaked skin before him, slender feminine curves with blue muscles of wonder and sensuous promise.

As the Belial grabbed a hold of the pillowy cheeks to steady himself, his horned serpent struck. Amber eyes flashed as the Laocaon hissed forth, fangs stretched wide with infernal poison. Curved bone stilettos sunk into flesh as if it were butter and pleasurable toxins rushed into the Devil-boy’s body. Zkairas felt himself sucked into the never ceasing abyss of the boy’s ass. Squelching walls of pleasure milked him and beneath them both the Succubus Rhuggana screamed out as the boy buried himself against her and mashing against her sacred chamber. The sensations were too much for either of them and they came with pained cries of ecstasy. Rhuggana saw black before her eyes as she lost her sight and surrendered to darkness, sweet and pleasant darkness. She arched into the master’s pet, her breasts pressing up into his own. Her body strained like a puppet caught in the stings as pleasure bent her body forward. Waves rocked through her as her womanhood gushed like an unholy fount. The Devil-boy’s seed struck deep inside her and spat from his cock into her womb. Each strike of hot seed brought her again before the gates of pleasure to be thrown against them. The Succubus mewled her delight as a kitten, her mind discarded for the moment as liquid fire electrified her body from the inside out. Zkairas was similarly effected and could not help but gush out his seed within the Devil-boy’s ass. The milking hole sucked him dry as his sacks were purged of all reserves, spewing shot after shot into his master’s pet as his eyes rolled back into his head.

From his throne Balthat watched the spectacle, amused at the petty fumbling of his underlings. He saw the Balial Zkairas be pulled aside by Rhuggana as she collected herself. Her brother Bythnit took her place beneath the Devil-boy’s leaking and still hard cock. The mess of his sister and the master’s pet glistened as the Devil-boy’s phallus sunk into the Incubi’s ass. Zkairas was soon replaced by Ghulla and Ahridshamin as they attempted to open his pet up for both of them. They were surprised to find the Devil-boy accommodating but still so overwhelmingly tight. Several Implysh took stations around the Devil-boy and pleasured themselves wherever their smaller bodies could occupy.

In truth the beautiful scene could go on forever, or at least until Balthat’s pet had driven them all mad with pleasure. Demons, as did most other immortal races, had unfathomable depths of stamina that could be applied in multiple ways. On the battlefield or in the bedroom where just a few of the choices. And such stamina matched the appetites of the infernal beings. For they were born of the Demon Lords, gods of chaos. Their sin knew little of boundaries or sanity or shame. All they felt, everything, was to obey their masters and ingratiate their nature. They were, after all, demons.

Fluttering of leathery wings drew Balthat’s attention and the Demon Lord broke his gaze from the banquet before him to the windows. A bizarre form of ash and evil lingered at the sill closest to the throne. Its arms were long, tattered wings of a bat. Skin of slate like scabs covering the entire body. Eyes of burning coal sparked back and forth slowly as the bald, human head cocked slightly to the side. From its black mouth, row upon row of white teeth could be seen as they jutted like sharp peaks from the inky gums. The being hissed as it shifted its crouching position on the sill. Clawed feet like that of an extinct reptile clutched and scrapped against the grey stone.

The Demon Lord rose from his seat, the Ifrit attending him silently shifting out of the way, and opened his arms in greeting as he strode to the window. “Tyvernus! Welcome! We are celebrating! Come, old friend, and welcome!”

Tyvernus, keeper of the domain and watcher of souls, folded his wings and bowed his bald head. Veins pulsed with lava-like blood through his veins to show orange through the ashen skin. The Balial-Laocaon hybrid was one of the Demon Lord’s prized subjects. The gargoyle-like demon kept ceaseless watch over Balthat’s domain and was keeper of his claimed souls. It was Tyvernus who now watched over the three sons of Gregek as well as the others who had sold their souls to Balthat. Such a resource as an immortal soul was prized in Hell. It gave power and energy unlike any other. Lesser demons claimed them greedily wherever they could, but it was the Demon Lords who held the most. For the masters of Hell wielded the most influence and could grant mortals anything they so desired.

“What brings you here old friend?” The watcher had been Balthat’s own creation from the beginning all those dynasties ago.

He answered with a spitting hiss. “Three left amongst dirt and cavern, to please the master as he discerns.”

“Good, good Tyvernus. My many thanks.” Balthat motioned to the Devil-boy with a wave of his hand. “Tell me, what think you of my creation?”

The demon cocked his head the other way and narrowed it’s eyes. “Will it be with the others?”

A rumbling laugh from the Demon Lord. “Goodness no Tyvernus, but I suspect he may collect more for us.”

The pair watched as the Devil-boy was stretched beyond natural proportions as the Cambions took their turn. Gargantuan phallus plowed into the small, feminine body. Their outlines tracing their paths under the stretched skin. Grunts and wet spurts signaled the half-demon’s flood. The boy’s stomach stretched as several gallons were pumped straight into his body. His belly swelled as if a child was already growing rapidly inside him.

“Remarkable is he not?” Balthat spoke.

“As you say my lord.”

“You too may taste of this gift.” The Demon Lord motioned for the others to cease.

Seed and ejaculation of all colors slopped out of the Devil-boy’s holes. The viscous fluids seeped like white tar oozing forth from the devil’s depths. His distended belly retreated as his body absorbed the sticky matter within him. Soon his form was the same as before, bathed in the effervescent white afterglow of his teachers. All it took was a faint coaxing wish of will and the Devil-boy turned to his master. Beneath the loose curls of hair his eyes tightened. Like an animal he crawled on all fours toward his master and Tyvernus at the window.

“Little one, come greet Tyvernus.” Words barely left his lips when he felt the Devil-boy’s power swish by him like a shadow.

If he had been a lesser being, even the Demon Lord would have not been able to sense it. But the affects were clear. Like before the Devil-boy sought out the most pleasurable point within the demon’s being and brought it forth. Tyvernus grunted as his erect shaft erupted with a splurch from its reptilian sheath. Loincloth tenting, the demon shuddered as the Devil-boy approached. With deft curls of his tails, he pulled aside the stained leather garment and reached for the shaking organ. The frilled orange shaft glowed with the demon’s blood, a growing knot pulsing at its base. Ridges rimmed the phallus like fungus as they flowed down the sides.

With neck outstretched, the Devil-boy gently rose up to plant a kiss upon the leaking tip. Tyvernus grunted as he strained to resist his urges. The Demon Lord smiled as he watched his pet attend the gargoyle. He was strong indeed and growing stronger still. At present he appeared less than a whore, lapping cock with soft coos. But the Demon Lord knew different. Beneath the lustful look and cum stripped form was a monster of unseen majesty.

Balthat sighed as Tyvernus groaned in climax. _It is so beautiful._

Lapping up what the soul keeper expelled, the Devil-boy gave Tyvernus’ retreating cock a final kiss before turning back to his teachers. Balthat likewise turned to the spent demon.

“Tell me, what has been learned?”

The soul keeper shrugged of the post climax haze. “War gathers in the East just so in the South. Winds tell of tricksters vying for territory. Death sits idlily watching as the fallen house continues to crumble. The sea is calm to the West but troubled to the East.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Balthat mused. _Diluvius and his Olympian counterpart are preparing for the seasons of war while others scheme to influence the outcome. Adlaytho and Barbas no doubt. Gaap waits as he always does and the fallen house of Krythlit remains weak. Only the sanity of others keeps the fool from being cast into Sheól._

_It is the perfect setting._ The Demon Lord thought to himself, rubbing chin between thumb and finger. _With my forces and new weapon the others will not suspect a thing. Olympians, Celestials, and mortal alike shall fall before the sweeping tide. Those that are not caught in the fire will burn against each other. War of Heaven and Hell shall rain fire upon Tylon. And with fortune, I shall learn of a path away from this infernal prison._

A hideous screech interrupted his thoughts. The commotion coming from his hall was none other than Neethka the Fallen. In a frenzied effort to claim the Devil-boy, Neethka had bullied aside all others from his prey. The Fallen Angel hunched over the willing lover with crazed hunger in his eyes. His mouth hung open as he panted and gasped the infernal air. His eyes only on those hateful, beautiful wings before him. How the Fallen Angel despised those wings. With a sudden rush of anger, Neethka grabbed the Devil-boy’s right wing and tore it off. Neither flesh nor bone parted easily in the sickly snapping mess. The Devil-boy was approximately Neethka’s equal, but he had his guard down. Balthat’s pet was here to please the tutors.

Neethka gripped the departed appendage in his hand like a prized trophy, noting with morbid fascination that one of the bony spikes on the armored ridges had cut into his hand. The Fallen Angel cackled to himself and spat in the boy’s open wound. He grew hard at the sight of the wretch shivering before him as blood like quicksilver oozed from his back.

Around him, the others hesitated for but a moment. The deranged Neethka had gone too far but they waited for their lord’s command. All froze between shock and action as the Demon Lord surveyed the scene in an instant.

Balthat tisked as he clicked his tongue.

It was all that was needed. Before any could move, the Devil-boy had arisen from the floor to stand on tip-toe. Eye to eye with Neethka. The Fallen Angel felt those delicate, nimble fingers slip around his neck to his head as he was pulled into sensuous lips. Soft petals embraced his own chapped flesh. Neethka shuddered when the boy’s slick tongue slithered inside his mouth, lapping over his teeth and twining over the Fallen Angel’s own tongue. Slowly did he feel his senses leaving him as darkness ate away his sight. Those soft lips caressed his own as the Devil-boy rolled his tongue over the Fallen Angel’s own in one last kiss. Red-yellow eyes flickered open but for a second to stare into his own.

_Bloody Judas._ Neethka thought as he fell into the Abyss and was no more.

The body decayed and cracked. Its skin became as tattered parchment as it shriveled for lack of moisture. Within a few moments Neethka’s corpse was little more than a spec of grey dust and deep purple feathers. His evil spirit had already departed from their presence to Sheól where he would suffer for eternity. Such was the destiny of those who swore fealty to the masters of Hell.

With indifference, the master came forward. His ragged cloth wisped about and hissed slightly as it caressed the floor. Balthat wrapped an arm around the Devil-boy’s seed streaked form, a gnarled hand curling around to grope his plump rear. The spent semen oozed out of the boy’s stretched hole and over those claw-like fingers. It would not be hard to conjecture that the former human was perhaps still slightly stretched the attentions of the Cambions. Soon, after his attendants had cleaned the Devil-boy, it would be Balthat’s own shaft that stretched his pet’s tight sphincter.

Cooing, the Devil-boy molded into his master’s touch. His torn appendage had already dissipated along with his remaining wing and boney tails. If he wished it, the Devil-boy could have simply grown another wing to replace the one torn off. But such things would hinder growing passions. It was with silent praise that all departed the throne room, leaving the two infernal entities to cherish their leisurely time together. When they were free of company the pair reveled in the long shadows of artificial night.

 

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Neither charity nor mercy had ever set foot in the heart of the Demon Lord. He watched from his throne room, through the crystal globe, and into the darkness beyond. Continuing with rigorous training, the Devil-boy would now be subjected to a number of tests and trials. If he overcame them without erring he would be welcomed into the arms of the Demon Lord. If he did not, Balthat surmised he would have to break his pet to a base level before starting over.

His weapon needed to be sharp for the coming war. As such he had advanced the training regimen. In the artificial night created in the forests of Balthat’s territory on Tylon’s surface a hunt took place. Only the most vicious and experienced persons were selected, pitted against Balthat’s singular avatar. Men, monsters, and mystical creatures of all kinds, even some from the Demon Lord’s own ranks, stalked the absence of light. And being hunted was the Demon Lord’s Devil-boy. A game of domination or death.

It might take hours or days. Gryssjr’s instructions were to ‘hunt slowly and efficiently, stalk your prey and know them before you strike’. Balthat’s only regret was that he did not have Angels to spare for these final exercises. They would have been a fine hunter for the Devil-boy to elude. However, the Demon Lord would have to make do. Of the Fallen Angels who swore their allegiance to the powers of Hell, few had come to Balthat. Even still the Demon Lord knew only Neethka capable of expenditure. He would not risk losing any more of his powerbase than what had already been taken.

He had removed the Devil-boy’s sight through magical means, rendering the weapon wholly blind to anything that was around him. Unlike some of his adversaries. Balthat made sure there was a high denomination of persons that could see clearly in such a cloaked space. Though they could not get out they were most certainly able to hunt whatever was inside.

Watching as he meddled with a certain species of bioluminescent cave fungi, Balthat saw the first life snuffed out. A dwarf male of the deeper reaches, his breed dwelling in the depths of the earth, had come through and been hired by the Demon Lord’s men. Dwarfs were a ‘hardy’ species as the tales so often described them. But if one knew how, they could be dealt with efficiently. And it seemed that his pet had found it.

Balthat turned his attention back to the fungi for a moment. It was a naturally occurring species blessed by one of the lesser gods. Dwellers of the underground passages strained its juices to make a potent healing potion, even to the extent where a correctly aged batch could regrow an appendage. The fungi’s luminescent colors changed from season to season also altered its properties. As the fungi was widely spread throughout the underground caverns of Tylon it was a relatively easy way to catalogue the time of year. Blue was the color of summer and was when it darkened to its deepest, the fungi was ripe. Purple denoted the time of fall and the time of regrowth for the fungi. Anyone foolish enough to attempt straining one would find mucus rapidly filling their lungs. When the first chills of winter came, the fungi changed hues to a golden yellow that Balthat likened to that of streetlamps in the night. Dormant, the stage was set for nurturing the next growth. Finally, a green to turquoise color set in when spring had melted the snows from the ground. This cycle bore no healing properties but did make for a nutritional alcoholic beverage.

Another scream echoed through the gloom beyond the crystal globe. Followed by another, and another. The Demon Lord smiled as his pet lured the hunters in with baited cries. Soon they would prepare for war.

The rest fell within a few moments of the others. Though Balthat would have preferred his weapon to take his time, such a demonstration of magic would not go unnoticed. The Demon Lord had power over his kingdom as any Demon Lord or Olympian did, but people where people. Individuals migrated, moved, and gossiped. A person passing through may notice something that would be to the Demon Lord’s disadvantage. And even if Balthat took every precaution he knew something would slip through the cracks. Even now the Celestial forces had no doubt taken notice of the nightly practice field.

With a flourish of dull grey smoke, the Devil-boy appeared at the Demon Lord’s side. His sensuous form dripping the blood of mortals and demons. It was truly a pity that Balthat did not have the means to procure a Celestial combatant to test his weapon against. He pondered this as he turned away from the fungi, done with his slight alterations. Implysh took the glowing thing away as master and pet embraced.

“Tell me, my little pet, what you have learned.”

The Devil-boy’s voice was beautiful, merely hearing the tones brought peace to one’s mind and love to the heart. He spoke in sensuous tones, describing in detail how he discerned each opponent and dealt the killing blow. As the two of them conversed Balthat steered them toward the Devil-boy’s old chambers. The very first chamber where the Demon Lord met him in corporeal form. There was something the Demon Lord wanted to test for himself. One last thing to set his mind at ease.

Chains dangled from an endless dark ceiling and the toothy stalactites growing down from the cavern roof. A long slab of cracked black rock lay as a dried river bed along what seemed to be the cavern floor. From various alcoves and pools bubbled streams of black tar that seeped into lower pools of molten magma. Only the glow of the angry light of Hell’s molten rock illuminated the dark areas around them.

Standing in obedient abidance, the three sons of Gregek waited on the presence of their lord. Each had become warped in body, spirit, and mind from their fathers bargain and their infernal existence. Just as each wore distinctive features in mortal life, so did they in their demonic forms.

Jazreil, the oldest had hair of fire that licked and fluttered ethereally on his bald head. His eyes were pools of inky black and his skin had turned sickly white. Blue, prominent veins pulsed with every heartbeat. Violent training had claimed half his left arm though his feet remained un touched. In place of the finger and toenails, translucent green claws grew from Jazreil’s smaller appendages.

Arnath, the second brother, had taken on a more demonic visage. His hair transitioned from black to alabaster white and small horns jutted out from the spiked locks. Slanted blue eyes darted back and forth beneath a long brow. What little remained of his upper body was covered in scales but below the waist was devoid of normalcy. A long chitin body of segmented armor grew from below his ribs. Hundreds of humanoid arms with five fingers and wreathed in the same chitin scales ran down the length in similar manner to a centipede. If not for his subservience to the Demon Lord, Arnath would have seemed snide at the coming of other demons even though he was little more than a lowly Belial.

Kyrne, the last, stood apart from his two brother. Of the three he was perhaps the most pitiable. Kyrne had retained some of the human semblance but the demonic corruption was unabashedly evident. All hair had departed his form as it grew pale and sickly. His ribs showed clearly through the alabaster skin and there was little left of his muscles save tight cords that strained to overlay bone. His eyes had sunken deep into his skull and black wells darkened around the green jewels laid within. Parched lips could hold little more than a pitiful straight line. Black tribal designs swirled naturally over his altered skin and would have been perceived as beautiful had they not danced across such a withered body. It appeared a few of the higher ranked demons had already pleased and amused themselves with his flesh. A trifecta of large rings pierced his back along the boney knobs of Kyrne’s spine.

“Tell me my pet, what think you of these three?” Balthat asked.

Without hesitance, the Devil-boy answered. “Lowly things they be. Fodder for swords at the moment, though if refined they may prove bountiful resources.”

Balthat raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so little one?”

“The first would make a fine warrior or assassin. He has already sacrificed part of himself to ensure his survival. What else could he sacrifice in your name?” The Devil-boy started without hesitation. “Corruption has taken the second. He would do well as a guard or warrior. If he lives though several campaigns more could be expected of him. The third is indeed weak looking but this also serves to his advantage. Magic clings around him more than the normal demon. If he had an anchor he would make not only an excellent spy but also an assassin. A few warriors have availed themselves of his charm, five of them I believe.”

“Hmm.” Balthat seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Truly your choices are wise and show distinction. If I gave these three unto you could you train them to the tasks you described?”

“Without hesitation.” The Devil-boy purred.

“Indeed.” The Demon Lord smiled down at his pet. “Then this is my task for you, kill them.”

The command had no sooner left his lips than the Devil-boy fell against the helpless three. Balthat watched from his perceived view of slowed reality as his weapon first slew the middle son. Blackened wings glittered green, blue, and red as they severed the second son’s arms while his tails struck the man’s chest from either side. The Demon Lord smiled inward. His weapon did not even hesitate to fulfill his order. No compassion. No fear. No shame. No remorse. Simple, brutal ferocity.

Using his pinions as pincers, the Devil-boy was almost about to decapitate the first son when the Balthat raised his hand. He froze but kept the fire-haired demon pined to the ground with one of this tails. Red-yellow eyes waited for the master’s instructions.

“If one would have to pick between the two. Which would you pick?”

With a sickening hiss, dark pinions snapped closed around the first son’s neck.

“And what would you do with the remaining soldier?”

The Devil-boy’s left wing snapped out and likewise removed Kyrne’s head from his shoulders. All three sons of Gregek lay dead with little more than a splash of blood staining the Devil-boy’s body or clothes. With great pride in his work, the Demon Lord Balthat welcomed his pet in spindly arms. It would be a war like no other.

Balthat wasted no time traveling back to his throne room and set in motion the preparations he had made. His legions came to answer his calls. Engines and steeds of war were brought out to be armored. Warriors and soldiers prepared. Those chosen to support the advance went about their predetermined tasks. Overnight Balthat’s Tylon territory had become an underground nest waiting to burst forth.

Demons of every kind gathered. The half-demon spawn known as Cambions and the Laocaon, lowly manifestations of chaos itself. Implysh that chattered and hissed with excitement. The Belials, true demons and brood stock of Hell. What few Incubi and Succubi dwelled within Balthat’s infernal realm remained behind, though there was little doubt the sensually inclined demons were anything but terrors on the battlefield. Few Ifrits wisked about in different form, some as ash while others were as smoke and yet even more as fire. The infernal Jinn served as Balthat’s magical practitioners and would bolster the troops however the Demon Lord wished. Ifrit Ahridshamin, Throne of Ritual, headed their efforts with his own power. The three Nephilim that had sworn fealty to Balthat prepared their troops, each checking and rechecking everything. Two Fallen Angels, Zabkailel and Gideon, likewise prepared. They would take to the sky and conquer it for their lord. No Princes of Hell nor Queens of Damnation lived in the sanctimony of Balthat’s realm, for he had sired no child of any sort nor did any demoness within his ranks rise to any level of prestige to be called a Queen of Damnation.

Demon Lord of Scholasticism faced all others with only his demons and his weapon, the Devil-boy.

With troops preparing, Balthat took the former human into his private chambers after laying out the final plans with the leaders of his troops. He meant to make it appear to others, notably the Olympians and other Demon Lords, as if he was ‘flexing his muscles’ so to speak. As if the Demon Lord himself rose from Hell to battle. But in this flux he would instead take the final step.

The Devil-boy had already grown, and was still growing, in might. Even without Balthat’s blessing he would be problematic for some of the gods. But that was not enough. A god slave of chaos all to himself. One who obeyed his every word. He who was trained to match the other infernal gods and challenge the guardians of Heaven itself.

Greatness was upon him as Balthat stood before the shorter Devil-boy. His pet’s sensuous form had been lightly armored, a suggestion of the knowing Gyssjr, with an assortment of enchanted clothing and armor. Though they gave his pet such an allure that it left little to the imagination.

“It is time.” Balthat’s expression grew grave. “Take up blade and fury my avatar of wrath. Arm yourself against those who may oppose our conquest.”

The Devil-boy bowed and held an arm out to his side, hand extended. From the dirt at their feet came a tremble and furrowing mound grew forth. Out of the mouth of the earth came a spiked stake of dark metal, its width and length fitting that of its wielder. A cubit of the newborn weapon passed before it widened. Something of a ‘v’ shape without cross guard immerged and after it a craggy blade two hands in width. The thick blade was of a diamond cross section with a single, central ridge. Cutting edges of jagged metal seemed to leer dangerously, appearing as if they were either knapped or otherwise flattened from the ore itself. Curves, grooves, inlets, spikes, and crescents ran up the rough but straight edge. When the head itself appeared, it was slopped as leaf before coming to an angered and razor point. Along the blade were pock marks and dents as if it had not been properly hammered, letting bubbles open in the roughly worked sword. Yet for all its odd appearance there was something unnatural about the weapon, as if some malignant memory had cursed the blade and stayed its sharp edge. Balthat caught himself thinking that the dark metal appeared to stare back at him.

“And what shall its name be, my glory?”

“Sheulón.” The Devil-boy raised the blade, almost as tall as he.

“The hell-blade? Yes. A fitting name for the weapon of Balthat’s avatar.” The Demon Lord suppressed a chuckle as he would have plenty of time later. “Come, it is time my Devil-boy.”

Slender fingers encased the Devil-boy’s head and a weathered palm pressed against his chest. There were no words or actions for such a ritual as this. None were needed as Balthat drew upon his birthright. A flood of energy burst through the room and echoed in the ground. All that was not attached or held by the two was thrown against the walls. The Demon Lord enacted his wish, his demand, his will upon his creation. Force like no other grew from within the Devil-boy and took root, merging and becoming one with him forever more. Softly the turmoil grew still and Balthat laid eyes on his creation, a newborn god of chaos and a Demon Lord with no name.

The Demon Lord wasted no time as he knew the others would catch on if he did not act. “Stand before me, my creation, and hear my words. Thrice from sunrise to sunset will you wage war in my name. Go forth and battle all who oppose you on ground, field, or sky. Drive back the kingdoms of mine enemies and eliminate all. These are my commands.”

“All lord?” The Devil-boy’s head was bowed and Balthat heard the voice as a querying coo.

“Kill them all.” He smiled with needled teeth.

A soft, feminine voice echoed from the Devil-boy’s throat in a mournful b-minor. “I see a red door and I want to pain it black.”

Balthat had no time to comprehend the meaning before Sheulón bisected his formulated heart. Pupils as crosses and eyes of red-yellow stared deep into his own. Then there was light. Horrible, terrible, unforgiving light. Balthat, Demon Lord of Scholasticism, felt himself empty. Once a god of chaos, he now was left helpless as his weapon robbed him with the very techniques he had taught him. While his individuality, his personality, his thoughts, his memories, his being and body were retained; all else was stripped from him. His power, talents, secrets, strategies and plans, authority left. Anything that mattered was taken from him; the rest was discarded. He only had the faint sense of his body collapsing onto the floor and a gentle hand caress his cheek. No words left his lips as he felt the inevitable and dreadful pull of damnation. The curse screaming Demon Lord was dragged to Sheól. No heir to fill and no vassal to inhabit.

 

▲

 

Outside the demons waited anxiously. Of those who felt the surge of power few knew what it meant. All stirred themselves as their lord’s chosen came forth beautiful as the morning star. With dark, crude sword the Devil-boy raised his arm and let out a baleful cry that was echoed among the ranks. The ground of Tylon erupted and heaved as hordes of demons spewed out from beneath the surface. To the north, south, east, and west they went. Never stopping nor ceasing.

The mighty forces of the former Demon Lord passed their master’s borders without hindrance and set upon the neighboring kingdoms as ants. As a deluge they swept over town, city, and shelter. None were safe from the terrible wave of demonic violence. Young and old, weak or strong, of any gender or race; none were spared. Balthat’s demons raped, pillaged, burned, and destroyed everything in their path. But soon their enemies heard the screams of war on the horizon and prepared.

Among the first ranks were Zkairas and his serpent, and other chosen leaders of the demon armies. They were the first to fall. And the first to rise again. For as the enemies of Balthat, whether they were mortal or celestial or infernal, cut down his armies the Devil-boy raised them back to his service. With vile and dark magics of chaos he brought them back into undeath to serve their lord again. The Devil-boy travel from front to front like this, overpowering all where he went and breaking resistance with his godly might. Nothing stood before the legions of Balthat that could match them. Angels fell, demons shriek, mortal races of all kind died before the demon hordes.

Sunrise to sunset for three days hence the forces of Balthat brought death and corruption to the lands. They were a fire that could not be quenched and burned all that they could not take with them, leaving a scab of destruction in their wake. Behind them a sickening blotch, torn by magics and drenched in blood. To the west they reached the ocean, to the east the sea. To the south they cut through the small territories of Demon Lord Krythlit, and to the north they the bastions of Hephtki himself. By the end of the third day all but a few demons were left alive. The rest wrestled forward in undead loyalty. And just as quickly as it began, the advance ended.

Animated corpses crumbled to the ground as the Devil-boy’s magic left them. The front waivered and broke. To those still of flesh and blood a dreadful chill swept through their hearts. They were alone. What truly transpired they did not know but they felt the absence of their lord’s chosen.

From the depths of their minds a voice whispered. _Run. Run and do not look back. The lord is gone, and his chosen. All others have fallen. Run! Save yourself. Run to the seductress, run to the warlord, run to the lord of undeath. Do not lay your head in the house of the liar. You have been betrayed once, never again! Nothing is left for you here. Run!_

The demons broke. They claimed the subversive thoughts as their own and horror they ran. Never looking back, the demons of Balthat scattered from the surface of Tylon, each to different territories or realms. In blind terror, they sought refuge wherever they could. Never looking back.

Word of exodus had reached to the depths of Hell where Balthat’s realm lay. Those that still resided there likewise fled, abandoning what they could not take with them before taking flight. Far, far away they went in vain hope to distance themselves from the memory of the Demon Lord. All went but one.

Tyvernus had likewise heard the call but the subtle call fell on deaf ears, and an inflexible mind. The keeper of souls would remain. He was a part of Hell that could not be outcaste. The gargoyle watched and waited. More souls would come. And he would wait for the master to claim them.

The being once known as Beywyn Ahriman Erskine stood alone. He looked back on the horror he had wrought and wept. Earth and sky alike appeared as if he had torn open their flesh and bled them. The ground was burnt, bloody, and ruptured like a festering wound. Roiling clouds of acid and ash churned with flickers of sickened lightening. Where there were no clouds the sky was colored a blood red. The Devil-boy wept and mourned aloud for the horror he had caused.

Slowly, the Devil-boy took a step. Then another. Full of pain and sorrow, he made his way home to his tomb. Back to where the hordes of Balthat first broke from. His journey was long by foot but it gave him conviction as he witnessed what he had done. Such a thing should not happen again. With purpose set in his heart he made his way to his tomb, collecting a few needed trinkets along the way. Above the lone figure the sky boiled and burned.

 

▲

 

Unnoticed by all, the vestiges of a destroyed slime bubbled. Its presence on the surface was odd for the slimes were the product of some lesser god. An aberration born in the darkness underground. Yet the burnt and ruptured slime had once come to the surface, no one would know why. As it lay in the path of the demonic hordes the slime was torn asunder. Its essence ruptured and all being it once had was gone. What remained was the gooey products of its former form, soon to be caked to a crisp.

Yet one drop of the slime slipped down a crevasse opened up in the torn earth. As the remains of the slime became a black patch on the land, the singular drop fell to the darkness below. It was not a part of the slime nor had any mind to call its own. A miniscule blob of goop carrying only the residual memory of what it was once a part of. The droplet could have fallen on a rock and broke into nothingness, sizzled in a pool of magma, or be dispersed by the water of a stream. But none of these happened.

Instead, unbidden by the hands of gods, it landed on the outcropping cap of a certain glowing fungus.

 

▲

 

Though the Devil-boy had retired from battle, others did not. The assault from Balthat’s domain echoed a terrible call to war and deities raged. None more so that the armies of Demon Lord Diluvius the Warlord as they clashed with Celestial armies led by Daraka and Helset on the plains of Arages.

Brilliant banners and legions clashed against one another like glittering tides of blood and men. Mortals, demons, and angels fought and fell while the powers that be fought against one another.

Chief concubine and lover, Ashlesa Vuka Dinylus Oxpheratus Sköll, fought swords in hand alongside her lord. Where as Diluvius was a hulking mass of muscle and violence, Ashlesa danced around and around Diluvius as a skilled ballerina would. As partners, they twirled through the battlefield. Back and forth they danced in the flicking light of clashing blades. To the song of death and screams of their enemies. Their hearts sang out to one another, a melody of odd love and forbidden emotions. A courtship, one might say. And even against the two Olympians their forces seemed to be prevailing.

It was in that moment that paradox ensued. Archangel Gabriel appeared in a shaft of light and pulled his shofar to his lips. A thunderous note shook the battlefield as a shockwave blew soldiers off their feet. Both Diluvius and Ashlesa tensed. Together they were a force to be reckoned with A Demon Lord and a Queen of Damnation standing at the highest levels of power in Hell. Yet even they hesitated to initiate a battle with three Celestial powers. Two Olympians, sons of the Creator, and an Archangel, mystic guardians of all creation.

They did not have much time to react as Daraka and Helset charged them. Fabled blades met one another with a deafening ring as the Infernal pair attempted to match their Celestial counterparts. Twisting, dodging, deflecting, Diluvius and Ashlesa managed to keep the gods at bay. Then Gabriel descended on golden wings with righteous fire in his eyes. His face was set and there would be no dissuading the messenger from his goal. Like a thunderbolt the Archangel struck between the two, his force driving a crater into the ground and sending both demons reeling.

Ashlesa, burned from the Celestial power and her body suturing itself back up upon her command, attempted to stand and rejoin the fight. But Gabriel was there with sword in hand. The Queen of Damnation tried to slash at him but the Archangel deflected the blow with such force her sword went spinning from her hand. She shrieked and wreathed her remaining sword with hell-fire. The Succubus lashed at him, cutting up and to the side, but Gabriel merely sidestepped. He appeared to be waiting.

It to a miniscule effort for Ashlesa to gaze past the Archangel to see her love being buffeted between the two gods of order. Quickly she threw a forceful spell at the Archangel, engulfing his holy form in darkness as her wings carried her forth. A pommel of bronze struck her temple and sent her crashing to the side.

Dazed, Ashlesa saw Gabriel standing unharmed and unhampered as he slowly walked toward her. But to her side she saw her beloved being attacked. She had to join him!

Conjuring another spell, the Queen of Damnation feinted moving to Diluvius. As she suspected Gabriel moved to intercept her as before. Black, ghostly chains burst from the ground to twist and twine around the Archangel’s form. For the moment he was trapped and Ashlesa did not have much time. Starry wings fluttered to bring her speed and as she flew over the corpse strewn ground, Ashlesa grabbed a wayward blade stuck in a forgotten soldier.

Daraka was working to beat the Demon Lord into submission while Helset stood off and to the side conjuring a spell of foreign design. She had never seen it’s like before as runes and sigils swirled to connect themselves in glowing bands of golden light; but it instilled a sense of dread within her. She forced her wings to beat faster and began chaining spells to lessen wind resistance. Even if she could throw herself against the Olympians as a missile it would give Diluvius the chance of overcoming the enemy’s advantage.

Blinding white light seared her flesh and exploded from her side. Her body was tossed skyward like a doll where she was met by another thunderous blow that sent her hurtling back to earth. The messenger had shaken his chains. His sword relieved her of her wings with a horrible swipe and she broke into the ground in an awful cacophony.

When Ashlesa gazed up at Gabriel she saw something wrong. In his eyes she saw pain and anger, these where to be expected. But more so, she saw grief. Not for the soldiers that died around them. Not for those who had suffered under the Demon Lords rule. Not for the endlessness of time within countless battles between Heaven and Hell raged. Above all these things the mighty Archangel Gabriel pitied her.

He spoke binding words and a spell similar to the one she had used against him. She was entrapped in golden chains as she struggled to break them. Twining like snakes over her body, they did not give. The bronze angelic sword fell and pierced her stomach, biting through to anchor into the cratered ground below. Ashlesa screamed in pain and frustration like a rabid animal. The Archangel cast all manner of magical enchantments to hold her down so that no matter how hard she struggled a new chain grew to strengthen the last.

Yellow eyes sought out what was happening to her love and fear clutched her heart as she saw her lord, her master, her beloved bloodied and all but beaten at the feet of Daraka. Helset also stood over him, a strange ball of magical enchantment swirling between his open fingers. The later thrust the magic upon Diluvius’ great horned head and the world was blind. All was the roaring sound of light. Ashlesa felt herself screaming in pain yet did not hear her own voice. Terrible energy rippled over her like fire and sizzled her skin. It could have been an eternity or only a few moments before the light finally faded.

To her shock, Ashlesa found herself gazing up at Gabriel’s grim face. His golden wings had been cupped around him to shield them both from the energy blast. As soon as he saw she remained lucid, the Archangel rose and spread his wings. Around them the battlefield had become a burnt husk. Charred and half-melted armor bubbled from shadow corpses. Nothing upright remained in sight as far as the eye could see. Gabriel crouched a little and leapt into the air, his wings catching the hot air and the Archangel turned his face away from the battlefield as he flew toward the heavens.

Looking about, the Queen of Damnation sought out her enemies and soon found them. Ashlesa’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Daraka’s battle ax come up over his head before descending onto her beloved’s neck with a sickening crunch. She moaned in horror as she looked on while Daraka lifted Diluvius’ head high for none to see. Helset seemed pleased with himself as well and slapped the larger framed god on the shoulder. Talked and laughed back and forth between themselves while Ashlesa remained motionless.

Having their fill of battle the Olympians departed and left Ashlesa alone on the barren field. With no power to keep them, her restraints fell easily as the Queen of Damnation rushed to the aid of her lord. But there was nothing to be done.

The Succubus wailed and cried to the heavens a song of woe. Her voice echoed the words of Lundruc as she called out in the courtly tongue of demons. From her heart she let forth a mournful dirge only one who had loved and lost would understand. Ashlesa sang of youth and courtly love, of sweet kisses and treasured little things, of passionate nights never to be shared again, and of pleasant memories that would always be theirs to treasure. Day into night she sang until her heart spoke no more. As the second day’s light found her, Ashlesa stilled her spirit.

Though she mourned his passing she knew Diluvius had chosen an heir and he would be expecting her in his new form. With dutiful and loving care, she took any trinkets the empty vessel had left. A few rings, necklaces, and his favorite belt made of Wyrm skin among other things. Utilizing a terrestrial spell, the Queen of Damnation sunk the body into the ground and covered it until smooth. It was less than the body of her beloved deserved but she did not wish to waste any more time. Her beloved expected her presence, to greet him when he inhabited his heir to walk the paths of Hell once again.

It was the furthest thing from the truth. When she arrived in the realm of Diluvius she was immediately put in binding chains and locked in a cell. The jailers whom she had become familiar with over the timeless expanse of Hell did not speak to her. None visited her. No answer was given as to why she was being held prisoner.

Finally, she was unlocked from her cell and dragged out a cliff top Diluvius had often used as an aerial port. Locked inside a cage she was flown to the House of Oaths, the meeting place of the Demon Lords.

Ashlesa was dragged before the highest ranks of Hell in her tattered garment and bloodied form. From high seats, eyes stared down at her in judgement.

“The council of Hell recognizes Ashlesa Vuka Dinylus Sköll, brought forth as requested.” A Belial announced. “Now proceeding with the accounts.”

_Accounts? Accounts of what?_ The Queen of Damnation caught herself thinking but tried to shrug it off. _My lord will be here. Diluvius, my love, will speak for me. He will fight for me._

Numerous accounts, some vague and some descript, were read by an Ifrit. All describing the past battle. And all claimed it was Ashlesa who had abandoned her master to the Olympians. Ashlesa could not belief her ears. Had the soldiers lost their minds? They had been attacked by Celestials and an Archangel had decimated their forces. None were left standing.

The thought echoed in her head. _None were left standing._

“On the accusation of treason, many accounts have been written and read against Ashlesa Vuka Dinylus Sköll. None recount the Succubi’s attempts to save the good lord Diluvius, nor attempting to defeat the Olympians who forced the Demon Lord into battle. By all evidence, rule of treason falls on the head of Ashlesa Vuka Dinylus Sköll.”

The Succubus fought the urge to speak, knowing she was neither aloud nor invited to voice her own objections. Judges would evaluate her case, not common demons. And among the highest were the Demon Lords. Diluvius had the power as her lord to overrule the verdict and have the court reconvene upon his request.

Yet when she dared look up at the furthermost benches only cold eyes stared back at her. And to her horror, Diluvius her beloved wore his face in a mask of withheld anger. With his eyes he accused her and bore into her soul. Diluvius blamed her for this.

_Why?_ She screamed in her mind as she stayed her tears. _Why do you look at me in such a way my love? Why do you spurn me so? Why do you hate me?_

The nasal but regal voice of Adlaytho rang out in the galleries of stone and darkened metal. “The motions have been made demon-kin. Evidence presented and proven. Witnesses have cited by the tens and hundreds what has transpired.”

He turned his eyes to Ashlesa and the Succubus felt ill. _What does the manipulator want of me? Has this whole assembly become a ruse? Tell me!_

“Demon Lords, kin, place your verdicts.” Adlaytho took his seat once more.

“Not guilty.” The beautiful voice of Lillith rang like a clarion bell in the hall.

The progenitor of Succubi and Incubi would not so easily see error in the ways of her children. Lillith perceived more in the narrative and wished to find it. But sadly, other votes counted little beside themselves. Even less when the swaying vote laid with Diluvius himself.

“Not guilty.” Giggled Krythlit, though he was perhaps merely stating the opposite knowing all others would vote against.

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

Ashlesa looked to her master, hoping that the wrath behind his eyes was for her actions and not her being.

“Guilty.” The Demon Lord rumbled as he stared into her eyes.

“Guilty.”

She felt crushed beneath the weight of her false accusers. Perhaps in vain hope, she glanced up once more to see if any could hope to overturn the verdict.

It was only by chance she saw the tiniest of smirks form at the corner of Adlaytho’s mouth. “Guilty.”

Then it all came together. He had arranged the whole thing. To topple Diluvius and disrupt his powerbase. She knew the magic the Olympians used appeared odd looking; now she knew the reason. Ashlesa did not know how, but the snake had done it. He had betrayed her and was set on crucifying her. But there was nothing she could do about it as the judgements pounded into her again and again.

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

Guilty.

Guilty.

GUILTY.

 

 

<Chapter 5>

 

For years, no green could be found in the leagues of land between the Sea of Arages and the Ocean of the Emerald Sun. It was as a large scab upon the land that festered and never healed. None inhabited the barren and burnt wastes for evil things stirred there. Ghosts of violence and fragments of dark magic slept fitfully and were roused by any intrusion. At first the horrors of the Three Day War were recounted in painful memory and nightmares wished away. But time heals all wounds just as it erodes the fallible memories of mortals. Fact faded into legend and then into myth. Years passed, then hundreds, then thousands, and then millions. Civilizations and kingdoms rose and fell around the scarred land that none dared intrude upon. None dared explore. For even if they were just legends the land itself gave off an uneasy feeling.

Still yet the legend of a demonic angel was whispered and echoed through the minds of mortals. A dark-winged figure who had lead the demon armies during the Three Day War. From generation to generation they were passed on. Some fabricated, some bearing a grain of truth. Others were bed time stories meant to keep the children from doing evil. Old tales were written down and collected dust before being forgotten. New ones took their place.

The scab lands were the resting place of an evil flame dragon, they said. He burnt the place and the heat of his scales still burns the land to this day.

One priest would claim, it was the mighty Woadan who saw and Angel misconduct his duties so he hurtled the Angel to Tylon. The falling Angel burst into flames and when he met ground the land was consumed in magic fire that burned all before it. Freyda, seeing what had been done, called the thunder clouds and rain to douse the fire. But Woadan’s wrath would not be turned aside and sowed the heat of his anger into the ground so it would ever burn hot.

Giants were said to be living beneath the surface with the aid of Goblins and Ogres. The fires of a thousand and ten cauldrons burning underground scars the land. Or perhaps it was the anger of the forest gods who saw evil in the hearts of mortals and abandoned that place, never to return. Maybe a Demon Lord, the lowest and foulest of all evils, dwelled there and the land wilted in protest.

As mortals quarreled and haggled and discussed, generation after generation, green began to retake the scarred land. It was subtle, a thing easily missed if one did not witness its growth. But nature retook the land. Fields of green and swaying trees could be seen, persistent in their duty, as they strived to make roots in the blood-soaked soil. Though a thousands deaths and more had been taken, the plants still grew. They would reclaim what had so long been denied to them. And before any mortal knew it, the memory of that scarred land had vanished. In its place was a wilderness. Though slightly unsettling in nature it promised untold blessings to those who ventured forth.

It was as the crescent of Udra shown clearly on the midday horizon that Arhminad Tomas of the Fiyre lead a small group of his people through the once scarred land. No human, who so crudely dubbed the Fiyre ‘wood elves’, had dared enter the lands as of yet. It was a druid of his people, an elder of silver hair and wizened eyes, that had told him of a heart made of green. There his people could find refuge and would not be harassed by the other races. In her vision the druid saw a grove of wondrous trees calling out to her and to the Fiyre. ‘Come’ they said; ‘come and dwell in us, for too long have we conversed only with the beasts and the birds and the wind’.

Arhminad would answer that call. The Fiyre that had come with him were little more than friends and some immediate family. His wife Laylin and his brother Dreinosh as well as his wife, Kathsha. Several other men and women of their people who were skilled in various trades. They had set forth from the north and west of the Arages Sea. For several seasons they walked, basking in the open air and the untouched land around them. A few remembered the tales their ancestors passed down to their children and grandchildren, for the lives of the Elsadyrin were far longer than of other mortals. They remembered the tales of a land scarred red and aching as a man enveloped in fire. How their people had heard the cries of woe far across the land and how it became a gentle whisper as time passed.

The green had returned and nature had reclaimed what was once stripped away. Yet Arhimand was not satisfied to settle on the outskirts of this bountiful place. His heart and soul drew him deeper.

It was so that the bronze skinned Fiyre found themselves packing through the seas of flowing grass and hills that an odd sound reached their keen, pointed ears. A sort of clumping and stirring of soil. They had believed that they were the first to settle here. With caution and bows drawn, the warriors in their leather armor scouted the land before them to discover a small delve into the ground. It looked almost like a channel formed by rain water where the soil had been swept into a small cavern in a hillside. The grass did not grow so long around it but if one did not look carefully they would miss the odd formation entirely.

Working in the dip of the small hollow was a skinny figure with a straw hat and lightly tanned skin that looked as if it would turn read at if the person stayed in the sun much longer. The unknown person was dressed in a white tunic with odd brown britches whose straps came up all the way over slender shoulders to hold them up. A soft voice hummed as deft fingers went about working the soil into neat little mounds around budding plants and digging new holes in which to place precious seeds within the ground’s nurturing embrace. As the Fiyre warriors looked closer they spotted the telltale point of Elsadyrin or elven ears beneath the frayed straw hat. A Cylest, ‘high elves’ in the words of humans, still in his second century by the look of him.

As it would be rude to disguise their presence any longer, Arhimand gave an obvious cough while each put aside their weapons. Their more common brother ceased his humming and looked about as if confused before looking up to behold the gathering Fiyre about his small delve. His face broke in a broad, welcoming smile as if he was expecting to see them.

“Hail fair brother.” Arhimand called to the straw hatted Cylest in ------ (?), the general tongue of all Elsadyrin. “Bright blessings of Feyda be upon you.”

Trowl in one hand, the pleasant youth lifted the over his head in greeting. “Hail children of forest and glade. Bountiful springs and pleasant rain be with you.”

The host of Fiyre smiled at the Cylest’s words. Not many of their more common kinfolk paid heed to the Fiyre in many moons and it was a warm welcome to see one of them work the ground with such care as this one. The pack horses were brought around and their sole wagon locked in place as the two Elsadyrin races greeted one another.

“If I may be forward, good steward of the soil, I was told by an elder of my people that this land had a heart that called for us. Though I did not expect any others to have already settled here. If this be your claim then we will move onward.” Arhimand sat with the Cylest and drank of his stored mead.

“A heart is indeed what you have found, for the land before you is that which you have sought.” The straw-hatted stranger smiled as he flicked a stray silvery lock away from his blue eyes. “The Heart of the Scar-Lands. Center as the humans call it.”

Wise but discerning Arhimand furrowed his brow. “How do you mean, good stranger?”

Pulling a reed flute from among his tools, the Cylest stood and motioned for Arhimand to follow him. The pair stood atop the hillock looking west. Before Arhimand were waves of heat and rolling hillocks that seemed to span for eternity. Yet there was something familiar in the breeze. Something calling to him as the druid’s prophesy.

“Tell me, son of the forest, what do you see?”

“I see hills and sky.” Arhimand narrowed his eyes and shaded them with his hand.

The Cylest smiled knowingly. “Tell me, son of the forest, what do you hear?”

“I hear the wind as it swirls in from sea and ocean bearing tides of clouds.” Arhimand replied.

“Then, son of the forest, put away these and tell me what do you feel?”

With a sigh, the leader of the Fiyre settlers closed his eyes and allowed all other things to fade. In the warmth behind his eyes he glimpsed something he did not when they were open. Songs came to him, whispering on the wind that had before spoken only of hills and sea. And a flute calling out as a maiden.

Arhimand opened his eyes to see the Cylest beside him playing the flute. And before him, were once he saw plains and hills, was a forest as he had never seen before. Trees and foliage of all kinds stood tall along the hillocks and bluffs. Deep from their shadows came a calm voice of the forests. They called for their children. They called for the Fiyre.

“You’re eyes and ears deceived you, good son of the forest.” The Cylest stilled his flute. “But it is your heart that lead you here.”

The Fiyre turned and opened his mouth to offer a gift, but the Cylest raised a pail hand. He pointed into the distance with earnest in his blue eyes. “Deep calls unto deep Arhimand. You have reached the place of your desire. There is a forest in need of settling several leagues to the west along the furthermost border. Pass an alon tree to the south and further west for a day. There you will find your home.”

He stood speechless as he stared at the young Cylest. Sapphire gems stared back up at him in meek mischievous amusement. Perhaps he was one of the Fae, people of nature born from Elementals.

“Go Arhimand. The forest calls you.” The Cylest smiled almost sadly.

The Fiyre packed up and said farewell to the Cylest, carrying with them a few seeds and precious plants he had given them as gifts. Days passed with the hills becoming larger and larger, and the forests thicker. On the twentieth dawn they passed a grand oak like the Cylest had said yet Arhimand did not stop. When the hills had all but ceased and the forest ended suddenly in an expanding plain streatching to the west along the horizon, Arhimand knew he had reached his home.

For the next several centuries the small settlement flourished and grew. A thousand years passed by and the Fiyre made a small kingdom of their own in the heart of the land. Never again did they see the silver-haired and sapphire-eyed Cylest, but they named their city in his honor. They called it Asphalia.

 

▲

 

Other races followed the Fiyre. Cylest, the more common relative of the Fiyre, built small bastions to the south of their woodland kin. Few Fae-folk that had already taken root in the forests propogated little and chose to remain elusive as ever. Goblins of various clans and their Orc cousins made nomadic camps on the plains south and east of the Fiyre kingdom, hunting the beast that grazed there. The ‘white’ human Caukasiaz along with a few Afrikaz and Fjorden, northmen of white skin with brilliant hair and tall of stature, came to the heart of the Scar-Lands. And with the humans came the Werez, beast-people who became as animals when the stars and skies aligned, and their bastard offspring. Then Gnomes and Trolls and Ogres and Dwarves. Races of all kinds took to the former Scar-Lands to rebuild or to settle. Yet mortals were not the only ones keen on conquest.

The 13th Divine war had erased many holdings in what was the Scar-Lands. Now the Olympians and Demon Lords as well as the lesser gods sought to claim what could be snatched up. Slowly they worked in the hearts and minds of mortals, subtly weaving out districts as the mortals settled further and further into the Scar-Lands. They did not claim kingdoms of mortals but lands of their own liking. Century after century did the slow devouring progress until scant few holdings were left available. Amongst them was the heart of the Scar-Lands which the humans had claimed as a kingdom named Asphodel.

What Asphodel lacked in rivers, an abundance of springs were fed by large aquifers churning below the ground. Forest hills, of boney bluffs and smooth hillocks, were to the north and smoothed to less uneven ground to the south. The east was cut in a large crescent of plain with pimply hills on the south most edge. Forest of a richer quality than their hill-bound cousins stretched along the western border from the forest hills to the to the southern tip. A few lakes, fed by the aquifers and seasonal rains, lay tranquily in the easter half of Asphodel. And among the hills and delves lay countless caves and burrows, though no party dared explore them in fear of old superstition.

Proudly did the forest city of the Fiyre still did stand, as did the mist hidden meadow village of their Cylest kin, but it was the nomadic hut-tents of the descendants of Infernals and the rugged cities of humans that endured for longer still. Though war was waged between races and tribes and families Asphodel endured. Beliefs of all kinds came with the myriad of races and subraces that had gathered in the heart. But of the true gods none had yet stepped forward to claim the prized jewel that lay as the heart.

Standing tall, an ancient oak crowned a hilltop as old as the land itself. It lay hidden amongst the step hills and small groves away from searching eyes. Alone did the monument live and if one could peer behind the veil of time, they would feel the immense sorrow that once marked the whole land and a presence that nagged at the subconscious mind.

Stay away, it said. There is nothing for you here.

 

▲

 

A maiden tracked her way north from the village in the darkness of night with nothing but the light of stars and moons to guide her. It was the crescent of Yesha, the Orphaned Child, that lit the shadowed path before her. The woods were hush around her and unseen arms snared her already tattered dress. Thorns and briars cut at her arms, hands, ankles, and legs. She went deeper, seeking that which she should not. Shadows surrounded her but darkness bubbled in her heart. She would not turn back.

Behind her was pain and anguish and sorrow and loathing. What she sought, she could only find here in the forests. That which drove others away. Something that did not wished to be found. The forgotten grove and banished memory. The unnamed thing.  

Deep she went as starlight and moonglow faded. Darkness and quiet echoed around her, the only sound was her faulty stumbling. Like others before her the maiden heard the unspoken calls. She felt the dissuading doubt. But the maiden pressed into the frightening presence. Onward she went into the forest, seeking out the unknown entity.

Darkness invites evil, her mother once told her. And she had thought of no greater darkness than that which shadowed the north forests of Asphodel. Amongst the hillocks and groves where wood met furrowed ground, the land was haunted. For such a thing as that a powerful one surely lived within. A magic wielder or god. But her mother thought otherwise. She said a demon dwelt in the woods. The maiden intended to find it.

She would not shirk this, no matter the consequence or damnation. No matter how horrid the cost. If she was bound soul and body to the dark gods as their whore for all eternity then so be it. Too long things had gone and never were they to come back to relieve the darkness on the maiden’s heart. None but her were left. Only the maiden had come to the woeful place in the darkness of night. She had come to invite evil. She was here to make a deal with the devil.

Inward she pressed and felt force crushing in against her being. Strangling her until she grew short of breath, laboring for air alone. Her ears whined and eyes grew spots of grey. Still she went further in. On feet, then at her hands and knees, before dragging herself forward. Darkness closed in around her and seeped into her body. Her senses became numb as she still fought onward. Then suddenly it was gone.

Without knowing she found herself at the foot of a large hill crowned by an oak. Green leaves glowed and rustled in the faint wind as branches softly shadowed the light of Yesha. A bark drew her attention to the roots of the giant tree where the moonlight glittered off the shaggy coats of a pack of hounds. At the base of the large hillock a pair of stone totems stood to either side of a dark-mouthed cave. In the glow of Yesha’s light the maiden could barely see the runes carved into the guarding posts, old sigils from a long forgotten age. She slowly came to her feet and looked back to see she all of it had perhaps been an illusion.

Though the hill she stood before and the giant oak should have been visible from the village, none saw it. But looking back she could clearly see the lights of her home, the temple where the gods of light were worshiped, and the hills and small groves between. Beyond the town to the south stretched the great plains of Isfaner and glittering on the horizon was the barest traces of Razanof Lake, named for Asphodel’s first ruler. And from the east came the soft sounds of waves softly lapping at the shores of Elsadyrin Lake. As she looked to the calming noise, the maiden clearly saw the lake and long shadow of Arhimand’s heart, the forested isle at the lake’s center. Wobbling golden lights marked a wagon train coming along the road from the east toward the town before venturing either west or south.

A growl at her feet brought her back to her own body as she felt a large hound pass by her legs. “You must be tired from your journey here.” A soothing voice called to her and as she turned the maiden beheld a beautiful young man slouching against one of the totems. “Come, rest. Drink some tea, it will warm you. Eat the bread, it will fill you.”

The youth was dressed in a modest tunic of faded white and breeches of common brown. But it was his slender, sensual frame and graceful movements that captivated the maiden’s attention. His skin seemed to glitter a lovely tan in the moonlight and his hair was a lush brown trailing down over one shoulder. And true to his words, the young man had spread out a clay cup of herbal tea for her and a half-loaf of bread with fresh cut cheese.

She knelt opposite of him against the other totem and gratefully partook of the offered food. Though her dress was tattered and her legs cut and she had not bathed in several months, the maiden did her best to act properly for her host. Her body urged her to tear into the food, consuming the nutritious contents as soon as possible to sate her starving body, but she withheld herself.

“What is your name, young one?” The youth asked, silver eyes flickering as if they glowed.

“Yiren Njedk, daughter of Jrorgen Njedk.” Pride and sorrow mixed indiscernibly in her voice.

“A Fjorden maiden from the village of tusks, hmm.” He curled his left leg inward and sat his elbow on it so he could support his chin in hand. “What is it that you want, young Yiren?”

The maiden set her finished tea and remnants of the bread aside. She put her head to the ground and bowed before the young man. Even if he had not seen before, the moonlight clearly shown on the numerous cuts and older bruises revealed on her arms and ankles. They were far older, a dozen days perhaps, than the more recent thorn cuts that drew blood against her pale skin.

“I would ask you who you are.” The bowing maiden did not lift her head as her voice carried into the ground.

The young man seemed unsettled by the implication. “Even if you ask, it appears you already have some thought as to who I am. Though your thoughts stray to ‘what’ rather than ‘who’. Why have you sought me out in such a fashion? Others have come before one such as yourself, what makes you believe you will succeed when they did not?”

“I seek a thing they did not.” Yiren’s fingers dug into the grass. “I seek vengeance.”

Silver eyes glowed like a wolfs. “Spin your tale then, young Yiren, and I will judge for myself the value of your words.”

The young maiden sat up and leaned back against the other totem as she started. “The village is a place like any other. It is of both evil and good. The priest and his acolytes appeal to the gods of light that things will be well. But they are not always so. My father owned the main store for the village and my mother was a seamstress. Coins do not rain on my head but mine is not a poor family. And among the other families that gain wealth, the innkeepers named Gresek are the richest.”

“I was to be given in marriage to the Gresek’s only son, Adelman, for we had been friends since childhood. I thought well of Adelman and his family as did my family. But we were horribly mistaken. Adelman’s father wanted a dowry for his son, a belief my father did not hold to, and pressed my family for it. But my father would not pay.” Yiren took a moment to twist a metal band on her ring finger. “One day I heard father and son arguing behind their inn. Adelman wanted the dowry. He demanded it and rebuked his father for not collecting it. At first I thought it was a happenstance and forgot it. I soon wished I had not. My mother took ill in the next few days, growing worse and worse. When we visited the priest he healed her but she became even more ill afterward. My younger sisters and I tended her as long as she could. But she passed away before the beginning of spring.”

She took a breath before continuing. “With the grief of my mother passing, father relented to the request of a dowry. We were wed when the lilies bloomed in the fields. When I looked into my father’s eyes I saw joy, but in the eyes of Adelman’s parents I saw only sorrow. We moved to the inn where we took up residence. Adelman’s parents became workers in my father’s store, my sisters Elina, of 11 years, and Giana, of 14 years, visited us often. Times were good in the few seasons after our marriage. But now I know it was nothing but a lie. Giana wished to visit other places in the kingdom and would chatter quite often of traveling south to the cities. It was a fanciful thing born of youth and I talked long with her about her plans. But one day, she disappeared. When I asked others if they had seen her, only Adelman’s parents answered that Giana had packed a bag and left for the southern cities along the road. It was odd to me but I accepted it as I could do nothing, and they reassured me that she had gone in good company.”

“Half a year later, Elina too went missing.” Wetness dewed at the maiden’s eyes but did not fall, as if they no longer had the strength. “She was found in the western woods. Her body had been torn apart by the beasts but her feet, hands, and head were not to be found. My father, consumed with grief fell into darkness and it slowly began to consume him. In the next season, he took his own life by hanging himself. As his daughter I took responsibility of the store with the help of Adelman’s kin. His mother and father were kind as they helped me work. For the past few seasons I have split my time between the inn and the store in order to maintain both. However, Adelman has hired workers he knew as a child, brutes that know only strength and physical things. They stalk the inn and store like hungry hounds seeking scraps.”

“After my father died I was the last member of my family. No kin in all of Asphodel. And soon even my husband’s parents succumbed to illness. I was left with my husband to tend both store and inn. I prayed to the gods that I be given strength to carry on the businesses of our two families. And to Anipu, guide to the dead, that my family be given safe passage to Heaven. It is perhaps by some favor, dark or light, that I found the truth. I believed my husband to be a good man, despite his bouts of anger, and that he cared for me.” Yiren pulled the hem of her dress up to reveal bruises yellowed with age. “But his touch grew harder. His caress unkind. I am a good wife and I have borne as much as I can. One day I ventured to the under-room of the inn to clean. There I saw a light beyond the door and my husband’s voice wavering in an odd way. There was the smell of rot. In the crack between door planks I saw Adelman’s parents lying on tables, cut open and reeking of death. My husband cradled his mother’s skull, skinless and void of flesh, as he talked to it as if she was still living. Of a small bowl he would retrieve raw meat to chew between he teeth as he talked. When he thanked his mother for such a succulent meal I realized it was of his mother’s flesh that he partook. And behind him I saw skulls of others upon a shelf with jars behind them. In those jars I saw the eyes of my sisters and mother, taken from them and made as trophies by my husband. When I told the village warden the search came to nothing and my husband chided me as if I were ill of mind. I have become the village madwoman. Weak and dumb.”

Yiren dared peer into those silver eyes. “For my family I seek vengeance and as compensation, I lay down my soul as bargain.”

The words seemed to make the youth flinch ever so slightly. “I am troubled that your words match your belief. Truly you have done as you have said, or in the least your memories say you have. However, to lay your eternal soul down as compensation is something else entirely?”

“I have prayed and suffered enough shame.” Yiren gritted her teeth. “If you will not take my sacrifice I shall go elsewhere.”

“And to who would you go?”

“Any dark god I may find.” Her eyes grew cold and without light. “I came here out of hope that the god residing here would claim my offer as the deal was struck. Apparently, I was wrong. I know others will not be closed to such a contract, though the gods of light are of little use to me. They have already abandoned me and forsaken my prayers. All that is left of my house is this body and the monster I have wed.”

“As you say.” Silver glittered wetly as he stared back into her own eyes. “Then I am afraid I must accept.”

Taking the cup in her hand, Yiren drank the last of the tea as if it was the last she would ever have. She steeled herself as best she could. There was little left to call her body that was not already numb but her heart still feared this. Even if it was what had to be done. Yiren prayed for forgiveness to her family that they would accept what she had done. The maiden closed her tired eyes and waited for her life to end.

A soft feeling touched her cheek. When Yiren opened her eyes she saw the young man kneeling before her, holding a black feather to her cheek. Despite her promise, she grew agitated with herself. She had thought that the forward offering of her soul would wet the appetite of any powerful being. This one preferred its victims under written contract.

“Just hold out your finger.” The youth instructed.

As Yiren did as she was told, the quill pricked her fingertip before she knew it. A droplet of blood formed to be scrapped off painlessly by the same quill which drew it. The young man knelt by Yiren’s totem and made some quick flicks to the surface before seeming satisfied. It was a matter of moments before the whole affair was over, and Yiren did not feel any different.

“As per our bargain,” The young man stood, his face away from the moon and eyes shadowed in darkness. “I will give you vengeance.”

Yiren thought to open her mouth but for a moment to clarify what she wanted, however it was too late. The youth was gone in a flight of ravens and crows crying in the night as they flew south to her village. She thought upon a whimsical feeling to follow that black cloud that carried her soul with it. But a firm pair of paws came to rest upon her lap soon followed by the hound’s head. Around her the pack had taken seat and lounged in her space as sleepy guardians.

_Thank you._

 

▲

 

Watchmen that did not sleep during the night hours of the village heard the great sundering of wings. They heard the roaring calls of raven and crows as the black clouds passed over the light of Yesha, Phylo, and Undra. From horizon to horizon the beating of wings rang as hell’s bells before flying south as if it was never at all. So great was the calamity that none notice the shadow slip through the gates. It writhed and curled along the walls and through the streets. Like a beast it crawled along the ground, avoiding the touch of golden torchlight and tired eyes of the watchmen. Unnoticed it went along its unknown path toward the inn where lay the shadow’s prey.

Adelman Hiron laughed to no one but himself and his family. They watched him from their jars and cleaned skulls, always watching his loving hands tend to each new member of his family. With more help at the store and inn there would soon be more of them to keep the others company. Adelman giggled at the thought as he worked by candlelight. The skull in front of him was that of the stable cat, something to keep his family entertained. He reached for a wire brush when the candle went out.

_Goodness, always the little things interrupting our pleasant reunions._ He smiled to himself and got up when he felt something wet drip down his leg.

Reaching down his leg, Adelman felt along the lower half to feel nothing under his breeches. Only a numb, wet rod that felt entirely too natural. When he tried to put strength into it his knee screamed with pain. Nothing could be said of his lower leg. Between where his ankle and knee lay a void of sensations.

He screamed and wailed. Where oh where had his leg gone?

Adelman staggered up the stairs to the main room. His candle, the only light in the whole inn, had been extinguished to leave him sightless in the dark. Echoes and creaks sent shudders through his being as pain slowly began to eat at the tendons in his ravaged leg. Any weight he placed on the appendage stressed the already frayed lines. It was a miracle he had not bleed out already. But he was in a delusional panic, thinking of nothing but survival. Adelman called for help, screeching like a wounded animal, but none came.

With blundering steps he made his way to the front door only to find it barred from the outside. He banged against the solid wood with all his strength. He shouldered it. He worked the sides and jostled the hinges. He clawed at the edges. But nothing gave. As if the door had been sealed shut.

Whispers drew the attention of the blind Adelman back the way he had come. Hissing, cackling voices curling up like tendrils from the basement. Indiscernible but fearsome were they as they wisped though the air, seeking out the cannibal’s ears. They spat at him with foreign tongues and gnashed curses from unseen mouths.

Useless pig!

Choke on your own blood!

Drowned yourself in shit!

Stupid fool!

You will have your innards strung out for what you have done!

Murderer!

Insects will grow from your eyes!

Bloody thief!

Bats will nest in your mouth!

May Gaap find use for your worthless hide!

Rot! In! Hell!

Adelman screamed and broke away from the door. Panic pushed his limbs as fear infested his mind. He crawled, stumbled, hopped, and scrambled for the stair to the top floor. Anything to be free. Anything to live.

_I want to live! I want to live! Please don’t let me die!_ His mind screamed in pain as panic scattered his thoughts.

Finding the hard, wooden stairs he dragged himself up. “I want to live! I want to live!”

The voices followed him like rising water, drowning the basement then the first floor with their ceaseless curses. Adelman climbed the stairs with his hands as he grasped the steps. His nails cracked and bled. He could not stop. He would not stop. Adelman desperately wanted to live.

When he reached the second floor, Adelman leaped into the first door. The room had a window that faced north and he could slip through it to the street. But Adelman stumbled through to find a creature sitting placidly on a chair. Pail skin like alabaster glowed in the moonlight and grey marks swirled in arcane patterns over his body. The young man only wore a short tunic, the hem only going to the middle of his thigh, tied with a black cord around his waist. He leaned on the windowsill with his elbow and rested his chin upon his hand. No hair crowned his head. The absence giving him the appearance of some priest of a mystic god.

The intruder did not bother to turn as Adelman entered. Nor did he seem surprised at the voices slowly rising from the basement. His sensuous legs were crossed at the knee and bobbed to an unheard rythme. There was little doubt in Adelman’s mind as to why he was here.

“Spare me!” The inkeeper’s son screamed. “Spare me and I will give you anything! Anything you desire! Anything you wish!”

“A contract has already been drawn.” The soft, unnaturally pleasant voice sang like a flute over misted hills. “What reason or assurance do I have of breaking such a contract?”

“Anything my lord! Anything you ask I will give!” Adelman begged, nothing sane entered his mind as panic overwhelmed him. “Please spare me!”

One brow arched. “Anything, you say?”

The cripple bobbed his head though it felt like he would snap his neck. “Aye! Anything you ask!”

“Then, your soul.” Red-yellow eyes turned on the cannibal with hungry fire licking inside them. “If you consign to me your eternal soul, I will consider breaking my previous contract.”

“Yes.” Adelman gasped and dragged himself to the demon’s feet. “I give you my soul!”

The demon smiled and drew from his tunic a fold of tree bark. In his hand appeared a black feather which he scrawled on the soft side a magical enchantment. He whispered as he carved with the quill. Words of power that flowed into the wood as blue veins glowed with his command.

“The mortal Adelman Hiron does put his soul in recompense for considered cancelation of contract, voiding the previous contract to claim his life.” Handing the inscribed bark and feather to the ascribed party. “Make your mark in blood, if it is what you desire.”

Adelman all to eagerly stabbed the quill into his hand and scrawled the mark of his family’s inn, crossed spears over a spoked wheel, with his letter initials below. He gazed up in gratitude at the demon for the second chance. The damned man offered the implements back, which the demon took with a smile and a nod.

The cannibal smiled back then felt something twine around his good leg to jerk him backward. He had time only to see the demon stare at him with mocking red-yellow eyes.

“A consideration for your soul, fool. Something to remember before your suffering begins, a contract is binding to both parties. These principles are laid on the foundation of creation. Such laws, while easily manipulated, cannot be broken so easily.”

Adelman was dragged backward through the door, the voices crying in delight as he screamed. The demon looked to the moons as they circled unnoticeably through the sky. He knew that even in the night watchers flew through the sky. They had not forgotten what had happened here. Nature may have covered over the land’s scars but the memory of immortals was not so easily swayed. On Celestial wings they crossed the land and armed themselves with weapons of righteousness. Grasping hands had closed in on him and his hold.

The Devil-boy stood, his form likening back to what it had been born into. After many years it was time to restore his domain. To hedge the extent of others territories. Divide where theirs ended and his began. He would confirm before all that the Asphodel was his. Their progress had come far enough. He would not allow them to touch the heart.

Looking up at the unseen sentries, the one who was once human sighed. He knew it would come to this but had hoped it would have not been so soon. But then again, what was time to an immortal?

It would require sacrifice to keep his kingdom. Loss, however, was a pain the Devil-boy was well acquainted with. And to be sure, some things would be far more rewarding than others. He stood and closed the door behind him as he exited.

 

▲

 

A new day broke to find the village of Sedire ambling along at it had always done. In the many years earlier, Sedire had been a military outpost and meeting place between elves and men. Now it stood as a crossroads between East, West, and South. Where the great road that connected Asphodel with the other kingdoms spread out like arteries from a heart.

Inside the old stone and mortar walls, an addition only in the past three centuries when it was an outpost, buildings of wood-mortar mixture as all stones had been utilized for the protecting wall. Mismatched lanes crossed through and between the thatch roof dwellings. The few tall windows that were not shuttered were opened. Glass was precious and the only used in the most important of abodes. Namely the second floor of the market where coin counting was done, and the temple.

The temple itself was not designated to one god but rather served as a pantheistic place of worship where the Sedire citizens could worship the gods as they so desired. Along the plastered walls, small inlets were cast to hold idols to represent the various deities. There was Woadan and Freyda sitting alongside together. Doraka, the warrior, was enshrined mainly to appease his savage nature. Fais, the mysterious, for her blessing of magic. Telhut, spirit of the plains and keeper of wind. Mrash, god of travel and safe passage. Khinre, daughter of the waters and bringer of spring. Rorgan, whose storehouses kept the snow for winter and who gave man fire to ward off cold. Finally there was the gods of death whose heads were that of hounds, husband and wife that gathered souls to judge for the afterlife.

Priest Yackobien Jugran sat at the head of the temple. He oversaw all and guided those who came into his house of worship with a gentle, fatherly demeanor. A large smile was thought to be perimantly affixed on his jovial face. His jowls never dipping below a contemplative grin and his ample belly shook with his loud, infectious laugh. The balding man’s eyes glittered like brown jewels along the lines of his pudgy face. And Yackobien loved his flock as much as his station. Perhaps a little too well.

With great care, the priest of Sedire walked to the back of the sanctuary. Beside him, a young acolyte followed in the expansive man’s trail. The boy had caught his eye and Yackobien felt his hunger grow with every movement the tantalizing youth made. His supple curves and fair skin showed of life barren of toil under the sun. Lush red hair, Yackobien’s favorite, grew down to the boy’s slender shoulders. In his pubescence the acolyte was naïve and easily swayed. He followed the priest like a calf to slaughter. A yearling who did not yet know the scent of a hunter. Together they abandoned the main hall for the back rooms, where they could observe but not be heard. Yackobien’s head acolyte, a budding youth in his 17th summer and one of the priest’s special students, would be able to keep the peace while Yackobien foresaw other matters.

His new pet was breathing anxiously through a cute button nose. The sound seemed to echo around them in the wood temple.

“It is alright little one.” Yackobien reassured the trembling acolyte. “This ritual between us will initiate you into the ranks of the Sedire’s temple and establish you as a chosen one of the gods. It is not a thing to fear but to take pride in as others have before you. There have been many acolytes that come through these halls but only few receive my blessing.”

It was true to a fault. Many acolytes had come and gone in Yackobien’s time as head priest. However, the fat man chose his pets carefully. He made sure they started out in the prime of youth, naive and beautiful. Over time he fed them half-truths and sealed within them pockets of magical power. Not large portions but enough to convince them they were indeed ‘chosen’ as he had said. When they grew older, he often implanted subtle suggestions that they work elsewhere. To go out and bless others with their teachings. The oldest one Yackobien had kept stayed for nearly 10 summers and was a beautiful man when he had left. Young girls also enrolled in the temple from time to time but Yackobien found them dissatisfying. They did not have the same taste as young boys.

He thanked the gods his position allotted for many things that others would otherwise question. Scented oil for blessing. And for Yackobien’s ‘chosen’. Priest and acolyte moved into a small inner room used for counseling and private discussion. It also had a small portal that, through a gridded window and long hole, looked into the sanctuary below. The priest found his loins stir at the thought. No matter how many year it had been the same thrill beat in his heart. He would thrust into his acolytes as he stared down into his sanctuary where the people worshiped. The chosen would beg him for more and more as he fulfilled their wanting desires and pliable bodies. Just as he would fill the newest member of his students.

Yackobien turned to see the youth had already disrobed as he had instructed. The boy’s pink nipples shown like blossoms upon the pale chest and a juvenile phallus waggling its immature length with every anxious heartbeat. The pearly loins were without blemish or hair, and remained uncut.

Smiling, the fat man called the boy over and bade the youth undress him. With furrowed brows the acolyte did as he was order. He undid the first sash, a brilliant green colored ribbon made for ceremony, and tugged off the embroidered tabard and brown robe as Yackobien sat down on a bench. The priest’s fatty bulk came into view. Layers of curling mass folding over one another. It seemed that his front was a one rippling waterfall of flesh, from his wobbling gullet down to his stomach. Likewise the boy undid the brown belt holding up the priest’s trousers, loosening them enough to pull them down and reveal the thick rod beneath.

Perhaps not quite the longest member but Yackobien took pride in the knowledge that few could compare to his girth. The throbbing manhood could not be held with one hand alone, needing two to encircle its width. In subtle ways, at times magical in performance, he had conquered his disciples. Yackobien had stretched many a hole with his pride and was soon to add one more to his tally.

“Come my chosen child,” His breath labored in anticipation, slabs of flesh pressing against each other. “Grace me with your kisses and show me your devotion.”

Those doe eyes were wide but he did as Yackobien instructed. Soft lips took the priest’s head in a velvet embrace. A slender hand came up in an attempt to claim the underside of the expansive shaft. The lips became more fervent, a blessing of the enchantment Yackobien had woven or perhaps the boy was that eager, with wet tongue sliding out to lap at the priest’s girth. The hand moved down in search of the sacks that stored Yackobien’s seed and, once found, the boy fondled the plum-sized orbs.

“Yes.” Yackobien smiled as he rested his head against the wall. “Worship me my lover. Give to me all your devotion and care. Nothing else matters now. Accept yourself as my own.”

At those words the lovely caresses stopped. No more kisses. No more gentle touches. The hand that once gently rubbed his sacks now clenched painfully tight. Yackobien meant to lift his head, to swat away the acolyte, to do something but he could not. Had his enchantment failed? What had gone wrong?

“Quite the heretic aren’t you?” A beautiful but dreadful voice came from the meek acolyte; red-yellow eyes glowed savagely in the alcove shadows. “Enslaving and manipulating others in your so-called temple.”

Yackobien screamed.

When the eldest acolyte found the castrated, disemboweled, beheaded, and skinned corpse, Yackobien the priest had departed the living. His head sat beneath his still hardened cock with eyes pulled out to weep tears of blood. Above the desecrated body was a message written on the wall in blood. The script was that of all men and had no discernable dialectic waverings to the letters.

‘Try again.’

 

 

 

 

<Chapter 6>

 

The Devil-boy peered out from the recesses of the cave entrance to the village and land beyond. He took a pull of the long, thin pipe before blowing blue smoke out the side of his mouth. Yiren had returned to Sedire alone with her wounds healed. She was marked and though it pained him greatly there was no annulment of such a contract. In the very least, he had assured her husband would suffer as much as she. Not a quick death and condemnation. Adelman would be bound to him for as long as he so desired.

Already he had established the boundaries of his domain. Marking the outline akin to the kingdom of Asphodel. For it was he who had influenced the small kingdom to grow and establish its borders such. With every treaty and extent of land, the Devil-boy had moved forward the kingdom’s territory until it encompassed his own. Simpler to maintain and always ready in event of intrusion. Long had he prepared for this day.

Yet he regretted what he was to do next and with a backward glance saw the golden mechanism he had constructed for such a purpose. He remembered the visit he had paid to Mathrix. How he had forced the sentient insectoid and her brood into agreement. But such a concession was better than what he was about to do. Again his red-yellow eyes peared into the blue sky and faint wisps of clouds floating high above. The watchers were there even though he had designated his land as his own. They were confident, perhaps. He had not walked beneath the open sky since the massacre.

The Devil-boy breathed out a smoky sigh and tapped out the ash from his pipe. Placing the comfort item in a pouch at his side, he walked forward into the light. A light breeze whistled across grassy hills and chattering through the forest leaves. The red-gold embroidered sarong around the Devil-boy’s waist swayed to reveal the soft curves of his left leg. It had been one that Balthat made him wear, but he found it suited him. Around his middle was a belly chain of intrinsic jewels connected by miniscule links of platinum. It glittered as his hips swayed back and forth with his stride. Along his hips a loose belt of many leather pouches sat slightly askew to dip on his right. Beneath the patterned sarong, boney tails stirred ever so slightly. A backless crimson top let his black wings move as they wished while still affording his chest some discretion, connecting around his neck and down his sides to his lower back. His blue skin marked him as an alien in this mortal place. Unnatural and unbelonging. He was the devil after all.

Light enveloped him and set his skin aglow in vibrant blue hues. Sedire sat pleasantly in the noon day sun. His land extended as far as the eye could see to the north, south, east, and west. Below him it sunk for miles to the planet’s core. And above it would extend to the furthest edge of the atmosphere. Beyond that, lying in the depths of Hell, Balthat’s domain stretched as far as it had under its former master. It called to the Devil-boy day and night. It thirsted for souls.

The Devil-boy took one more look at his lovely kingdom of Asphodel before letting himself slip away into that Infernal place. His figure disappeared in a cloud of flickering blue flame and embers accompanied by ash filled smoke.

Angry reds and blacks greeted him in sickening yet joyous return. The hell-scape bore the same geography it had during Balthat’s reign. More or less. Great continents of black rock shifted back and forth in air, over roiling magma, and groaning against each other with every passing touch. Spires and fangs leered down at the Devil-boy, their new master. Betwixed molten rock and tempest a thousand eyes stared at him. Laocaon dwelt here now as all other ranks of demons saved the lowest had fled. All that remained were Infernal denizens and the chaos from which they were spawned. Hell itself had waited for him and it was not the only one. A flapping of wings heralded the one that stayed.

Tyvernus, gargoyle of molten veins and slate skin, roosted behind his lord. Eyes peered at the blue-skinned figure. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Neither spoke and the Devil-boy rested a hand on his pouched belt. This place was everything his identity, who he had become, and it was also where he suffered more than any man before him. It was his womb. This was his second death.

The Devil-boy felt the air shift around him, acknowledge his presence. It called him master, king, lord. Rocks and beasts and deserts called out his name. Laocaon, the chaos spawn, bowed in his presence. Tyvernus leaped down from his perch and swept his leathery wings to the sides as he too bowed before the Devil-boy.

“What may your servants do for their lord?” The demon asked.

 

▲

 

Twelve seats occupied the oval chamber. Twelve Demon Lords reclined on their assigned thrones. Each once a being who had stood at the edge of time and creation, and seen the work of their father’s hands. But those eyes and hearts had grown cold. Disagreement and dispute and betrayal had seen to that. They now ruled from their Infernal prison while their ‘siblings’ stood at the mouth of Heaven that the Creator had sacrificed himself to build.

Twelve Demon Lords sat at the center of chaos. Though locked inside this prison and schackled to play toy soldiers on Thylodon, their presence was felt throughout all of creation. They were the black cancer that ate at the hearts of all that lived.

Ziminair the Lounger, Nithlyax the Deciever, Llyamse the Harlequin, Lillith the Seductress, Krythlit the Pervert, Hyrigion the Dillisusion, Gaap the Destroyer, Diluvius the Warlord, Corson the Vane, Barbas the Lesser Evil, Apep the Devourer, and Adlaytho the Manipulator.

A thirteenth seat sat empty in the hollow wake of the Thirteenth Divine War. No one had come to claim the throne of the Scholar. It would have been foolish even if they had. Each Demon Lord knew where the attack had come from. And though only a small holding of their territories had been conquered in the wake of the war, each of them had already thought as to how they would pay back Balthat for his intrusion on their affairs.

Yet it was not the scholar who graced them with his presence and worn robe, but something else entirely. Alone, without any escort or train of attendants, the blue-skinned demon graced the twelve with his presence. He was alluring, perhaps of Incubus stock, and wore the garments of a concubine. But there was no mistaking his right to sit amongst the twelve.

“Who are you?” Diluvius was the first to ask, eyes of flame burning beneath a terrible brown and large horns.

“Hmm.” The demon smiled as he folded his wings. “Yes I suppose we have not yet become acquainted with one another.”

Corson interrupted, his painfully picturesque body on full display in all its nude male glory. “Patience is not something you will find here and impudence is not a joke. We see you wear the mantle belonging to Balthat the Scholar.”

“Yet you bear a different air.” Lillith finished.

“So we ask again.” Apep intoned, eyes glittering dangerously.

Diluvius moved his body to the edge of his throne. “Who are you?”

The Devil-boy smiled, a deadly light glowing dangerously in his red-yellow eyes. He looked as if he might accept the Warlord’s challenge. “I am called Lucifer.”

Every eye, lord and consort alike, narrowed as the twin-tailed devil stood next to the thirteenth throne of Hell and gently placed a hand on the back. There was no denying him. As every Demon Lord in turn tested their presence against his, they found it matched them identically. This was indeed a Demon Lord that stood before them yet not one who was with them at the beginning. And certainly not the vessel of Balthat himself. They knew of the experiments of Atlam and Azlatt, failures in an attempt to make a god-killer without sacrifice of one’s own mantle.

Then what was this that stood before them? A fragment of Balthat’s being? An error when Balthat fell? None knew nor could they know. Any witnesses had died long before. Only the devil remained.

“Are you sure of yourself, taking place in that seat?” Adlaytho eyed the one who called himself Lucifer with interest. _Such an eager thing coming here. Why the rush? Why in such a hurry? Perhaps you have forgotten something along the way?_

“And what would I have to fear from such-” Lucifer sat and crossed his legs at the knee while placing his hands plaintively in his lap. “Amicable company?”

The Demon Lords eyed the newcomer, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. Perhaps he was Balthat’s heir, perhaps he was not. It mattered little in the schemes of others. Whether he was fit or not was inadequate a question. If he was not one of them he would soon fall like the weak.

“Speaking of such, I bring gifts.” The Devil-boy withdrew twelve crystals from a pouch at his belt.

Dancing, as if each was alive with purpose, the crystals alighted into the air and twisted their way to the Demon Lords one by one. To their feet the crystals descended and glowed with magical intensity. Twelve gifts materialized from the used crystals that drew there.

For Adlaytho, an original puzzle box created by the great Theudra psionist and later traitor wizard, Ill’khatk-kthan.

For Apep, a casket full of the choicest of meats of a charcathean centaur, spiced with the blood of forest sprites and frozen by the breath of nightwish.

For Barbas, an ever changing set of clothes that matched the wears body no matter what form he or she took.

For Corson, a set of the finest cosmetic products made from the rarest and most exotic of materials. Skin lotions from the first generation of elves, moisturizers that held drops from the undersea well of the Emerald Ocean. Eyeliner from the ashes of millennium old dragons. Blush from the thick sweat of Celestially created golems. Lipstick from the poinsons of a wyrm-basilisk hybrid.

For Diluvius, a case of umber liquor spiced and fermented with the blood of the Tumlilix beast.

For Gaap, a collection of skull cups and rune etched skeletons of the Imuchi pigmies.

For Hyrigion, Tears from Fais herself held in a clear crystal.

For Krythlit, a never-ending differential jack-in-the-box crafted by the Demon Lord’s own hands.

For Lillith, a small barrel of ethlone tobacco spiced with the incense hand made by Ishanazumi shrine maidens.

For Llyamse, 6 Janus masks of the most intricate design. Each was formed from the blood-soaked battlefields where each of the Olympian goddesses waged war.

For Nithlyax, the sliver totems of Naharazahn that were chiseled from the bones of the first Giant king. It was said they could unlock any door and open any vault.

For Ziminair, a sofa and pillows that conformed to the owner’s body so he would never be uncomfortable.

It took little time for the Demon Lords to settle. Even if they knew the gifts were meant as beads they still held value. A gift given was a debt incurred. And for them to all receive such lavish things, the Demon Lord must have something he wished of them.

“I apologize for my sudden intrusion as well as my prolonged absence.” Lucifer glowed with kindliness. “But it appears I must make myself clear. I will not advance upon any of your territories, nor will I take positions against your kingdoms. Of more land, I need not. However, the land I have is mine and mine alone.”

The Demon Lords sat unmoved by time or tragedy. Each considered Lucifer’s words carefully. Adlaytho was the first to concede, giving a slight nod. Krythlit was the second, and Lillith the third. Others followed after. They would allow Lucifer to maintain his realm on Tylon for now. But debts lent from trinkets did not last forever.

For the remainder to the council the Demon Lords, or rather their subordinates, discussed trivial matters and held debates between the twelve rival powers. Flow and distribution of souls were augmented. Discussions of building and construction addressed. Indigenous Laocaon populations thought about. The main speakers were not the Demon Lords but servants who were subtly directed by their lords will. A mouthpiece in every sense of the word.

When the last topic had reached its finish, each ‘party’ bowed to one another before scurrying behind their master’s thrones. As one the Demon Lords stood before making their way back to their own realms with each being followed by a train of consorts. Adlaytho looked after Lucifer as the Demon Lord departed by himself. The god of chaos sensed the gaze of another and red-yellow eyes met Adlaytho’s cold black orbs. Those cross cut eyes shifted over Adlaytho and his attendants for a moment before turning to leave. A great serpentine wyrm with obsidian scales rose to meet him and Lucifer stepped onto it’s back. The Demon Lord departed for what was once Balthat’s realm in the Infernal lands.

“Ashlesa, my dear,” Adlaytho intoned to the lowest of his consort, a succubus slave. “I might have some use for your talents after all.”

Miles from them, the Devil-boy allowed his smile to fade. He had bought himself some time but not much. There was more to fear in the lands of Thylodon and Hell than the gods of chaos. He would begin the next step as soon as he returned. Though perhaps he would stop by to see Adelman’s soul wriggle in agony before doing so.

 

▲

 

Warm sun greeted his return as Lucifer teleported himself to his hilltop overlooking the Asphodel. It appeared as though he had been gone a moment but this was a mere trick. Hell and Thylodon, though separated from the rest of creation and outside of time as well as space as marked by the gods, they were also divided from each other. There was no time in Hell as Balthat had so brutally taught him. While Tylon spun through its own space a with its own seasons and years, Hell fought and squabbled in its own mind.

Lucifer gazed over his kingdom and thought of how he would never be able to hold it. When he was born and shed what used to be called Beywyn Ahriman Erskine, Hell became his home. This was only a resort. A simple playground for him, like all other Demon Lords, to meddle with. They could no more break from Thylodon or Hell than a mortal could become a god. Darkness flowed into all creation from these two points yet the true demons could be no closer to freedom than birds in a cage. However, if such was his lot then Lucifer would do it his own way.

The Devil-boy looked up, shading his eyes with a delicate hand. “I suppose it should go something like this.”

A rush of wings and the call of a Celestial trumpet.

He sighed. “Predictable.”

Four beings of light as bright as the sun itself descended on the oak-crowned hill, each taking positions around the exposed demon. Each was different in every way. One was a woman of Asian descent who appeared to be in her 3rd decade. Then next a man of dark skin like the Africans, a tall lithe fellow with shaved head and intense eyes. A white-skinned hermaphrodite of female appearance with green hair in scant armor that left little to the imagination; their spell weaver. And a bronze skinned man with eyes of fire.

Angels had no definite form and could assume any as they needed to. Male, female, hermaphrodite, sexless, animal, object, or mortal, it did not matter so long as there was nothing to keep them from taking a shape. Though each preferred to keep a form just for themselves. An image exemplifying their own individuality. Their avatar, abrasive as they may be.

Silence pervaded for a few moments.

The Devil-boy opened his mouth only to be interrupted by the fire-eyed leader. “Silence demon! We do not answer to the likes of you!”

“So it would seem.” The Devil-boy eyed each of them, careless for the sarcasm seeping into his pleasing voice.

While the green-haired mage was without weapon, save for the intricate dagger at her side and trishula, the others carried various armaments. Their leader, fire-eyes, held a large shield that drew its ovular origins from African tribes and a curved scimitar that glittered as fluid gold. The woman handled a Chinese ji or dagger-axe with a spear head, and knew the weapon well. She was perhaps the most experienced of the four. As for the African looking man, a pair of kamas of the oriental tradition.

“Let me make my intentions clear,” Lucifer began but was yet again interrupted.

“Silence I said!” Fire-eyes spat to the side. “You trespass on this land and so you shall be punished demon!”

“I believe-” But the Devil-boy got no further than that, pivoting to avoid the slash of gold intended to bisect him.

Lower ranked angels? Battle hardened yet they do not seem to be keeping with the times. Lucifer ducked the thrusting dagger-axe and spun on the balls of his feet, avoiding the downward cut of the kamas. Messengers perhaps, relegated to watch over a land the Olympians presume to be empty in the wake of Balthat’s fall. Even so, no a single one bothered to warn them? No precautions taken? Interesting.

Together the three warrior harassed him while their spell-weaver kept her distance. But try as they might they could not match the Demon Lord’s speed or agility. He led them like puppets along the hills, allowing them to maneuver themselves closer to the mage before realizing their mistake and ‘forcing’ Lucifer’s retreat away. But the circus could only last so long. As Celestial beings their stamina was beyond that of mortals. This fight would go on for seasons if not years if allowed, and Lucifer was somewhat pressed for time.

As he ducked again into a crouch, he touched the ground and sent a spell through the earth beneath him. Fire-eyes charged him with the spell-weaver a distance behind him. The sickle armed angel charging from the right. While he readied a different spell with his right the ji descended toward his unprotected back and folded wings. A spiked cone of rock shot out from his right, up and across his back, to deflect the deadly dagger-axe.

Lucifer launched himself forward, lashing the Asian-looking angel backward with one of his spiked tails. As the African and Fire-eyes approached with wings spread, he tapped the ground with his left foot. Just the barest of touches but he gave enough force that it propelled him to the side, shooting him in the middle of the two oncoming attackers.

Slicing sickle blades cleaved the air as the kamas rushed towards him in conjunction with the golden scimitar. The Demon Lord’s dark wings opened like horrid banners to catch the air and snapped, pushing him below the oncoming blades as he skidded along his knees. But he did not leave the two angels without attention. His twin tails struck to either side, the left jabbing through a divot in Fire-eye’s armor and the right pierced into the black man’s armpit before digging into his shoulder joint. Lucifer swung himself around and beat his wings while launching his right handed spell toward the angel mage without looking. Sickly purple lightening arched between his hand and the ground with the spell-weaver’s brilliant white wings caught in the middle. The hermaphrodite’s scream echoed around them with the subsequent stench of burnt flesh.

Wounded, the two Celestial warriors turned to face their adversary. With ji striking forward like a scorpion’s tail the third Angel flew forward to cover her comrades. Lucifer sidestepped the attack, grabbing hold of the haft, while lashing out and up with his right wing. The woman was knocked skyward and let go of her weapon. Whipping the ji to his right and spinning, the Demon Lord loosed the deadly missile toward Fire-eyes. He made sure the trajectory would be slightly to the Angel’s left. Not to damage the warrior but directing him back and away from his spell-weaver.

As he anticipated, the bronze-skinned Angel brought up his oval shield in defense only to be knocked sideways by the glancing missile. A quick glimpse to the side confirmed that their spell-weaver was in shock from the spell and was crippled in her wings. Lucifer dashed toward the pair as if to meet them hand-to-hand. However, as the African slashed at him Lucifer again swept his wings backward. The draft quickly carried him up, over, and behind their crippled comrade. From beneath his sarong, the twin tails wriggled out. One stretched around the green-haired Angel’s stomach and pierced into the ground. The sharp, spear-headed end of the other held under the spell-weaver’s chin. Pinkish muscles stretched between the overlapping plates of sharp bone.

“Let me attempt this one more time,” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed and the edge of his tail nicked into the Angel’s flesh. “Asphodel is mine from sky to ground below. It is you who are intruding. And for the insolence of attacking me, a pound of flesh for a pound of flesh. One of yours for this little one. That is unless you would prefer to abandon this sweet little thing.”

Though she steeled her face there was no mistaking the fear emanating from the crippled Angel. Lucifer was within his rights to hold any being intruding upon his region for so long as he wished, Olympians and Demon Lords withstanding, and for the price of attacking his person the penalty grew. It took a few moments for worry and dread to pass through their faces. Then desperation set in. The Angels would think of some way to lessen the fate of their brethren. But they knew that the Demon Lord would ask one horrible act after the next.

Or at least that is what Lucifer let them think. He had no plans on keeping the spell-weaver or any of the present Angels. No, he needed a more powerful individual. One who was rank and shoulder above these lesser soldiers of Heaven.

“Call to the Guardian who stands over you. Have that Angel meet me at the twin totems beneath the oak yonder. The Guardian for everything, that is my price. Otherwise-” His left tail whisked up, buzzsawing through muscle and bone with horrible whip-snaps, slicing the green-haired Angel’s right wing and arm of in one clean cut. “There will be consequences.”

Each Angel stared at the Demon Lord with palpable dread, their companion’s screams ringing in their ears. She grasped at her arm as she moaned in pain against the bladed tail at her throat. Red-yellow eyes glowed menacingly.

Fire-eyes nodded to the other two, spreading his wings as they took flight and flew for western skies. One backwards look and the leader was gone. The Devil-boy’s enchantments that covered the surrounding hilltops had kept all but the keenest of senses from detecting the fight that had taken place. Lucifer relaxed and waited for the Angel’s return.

At his feet the spell-weaver whimpered as she clutched her bloodied stump. Silver blood oozed down her back from the shredded vestiges of her right wing. Her head was still kept rigid, neck straining to keep away from the bone-plated tail. It was a truly pitiful sight and somewhat of an annoyance to keep her in such a state.

Might as well. Lucifer let magic flow through his arm and golden sigils of light swirled along his palm. He recited the words as a rune constructed triangle came to life in his right hand. It was an old spell from the first Divine Wars. However, it was as dependable as the seasons. Leaking blood stopped and the tissue began repairing itself, using the Angel’s own magic to fuel regeneration. Beneath him, the spell-weaver dared glance back to witness a Demon Lord wielding Celestial magic.

Wordlessly, Lucifer glanced down at his prisoner, red-yellow eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts, and shrugged before glancing back up to the sky. The angel slumped as far as she dared. Her predicament had become worse than she imagined. A demon who knew the secrets of Celestial magic, let alone use them, was a terrifying thing. A foe such as that could waylay the might of Heaven. With the armies of Hell at his back, they would be unstoppable.

Lucifer, on the other hand, could care less as he finished the spell. He was waiting for the Holy Guardian to come. The Scar-Lands were an anomaly and a threat in the same stroke. From the myriad of cave entrances and crevice’s that delved into the ground beneath Asphodel, Lucifer had nurtured the land back to life unseen by the likes of Heaven’s sentries. But he had seen them. Angels, Sentinels, Cherubim, and one Holy Guardian watched from the skies high above where any mortal eyes could perceive. They cloaked themselves with magic and made nests in the clouds. Lucifer in his web of caves and caverns kept an ever-watchful eye on the sky above. Now was the time he struck.

Thunderous wings heralded the coming guests to his hilltop. Both captive and devil turned to see three figures bear down on them. The first was Fire-eyes come back for the lost sheep from his flock. Two others were Sentinels, commanders of the Angels that worked and fought under them. And the last was the Holy Guardian.

He stepped away from the crippled Angel, removing his bladed tails to hide them among the recesses of his sarong. The Devil-boy folded his dark wings, unnatural veins glowing blue and green in anticipation, behind him and clasped his hands easily in front of him. He considered smiling for a moment then spreading his thin, succulent lips in a genuine smirk. Even if this moment was a mockery he was enjoying it.

Celestial warriors descended and the ground rumbled as the Holy Guardian touched earth. Lucifer thought it fitting that the sixth rank of Heaven descending from the Olympians and Archangels was icing on the proverbial cake. After all, according to humans, 6 was the devil’s number.

And lo, the watcher of Heaven was a sight to behold. Wings of golden light billowed like a cape from mighty shoulders. His form was as a mountain, chiseled muscle and sinew lacing over hardened bone. Golden magical armor rippled ethereally around his almost half-nude form. His legs were covered in cut trousers and a long white loincloth with edges of blue and runes engraved in silver. Laced sandals shod his feet to mid-calf. His hair was like flaxen wheat. Beneath a steep, noble brow piercing blue eyes stared at Lucifer with raw intensity. At his side was a sword shaped club of wood, Celestial enchantments whittled subtly along its length. The Holy Guardian stood perhaps 10 feet from foot to crown, his form seemed unassailable in every aspect. This was one of Heaven’s Holy Guardians.

“I am Mazerik Iosif, guardian of the Scar-Lands and watcher of Heaven.” The mountain spoke, his voice deep as thunder. “You bargain for the life of my soldiers and claim this land yours. For return of my subordinate you have named me as the price.”

Lucifer kept his smile though he no longer felt its warmth. “I have.”

“A weighty price.” Mazerik intoned, laying a hand on the sword-club at his side.

“A justified price.” The Devil-boy became grim. “I have been lenient for some time, letting your forces to loiter in my skies. Spying on everything beneath the three moons. However, an attack on my person and denying my claim to this dominion is a step to far. Do you know think so?”

Beside Mazerik, the other Angels gritted their teeth. In truth they had indeed flown over this speck of land many times. Even trekked along its shaded paths. But the cost this demon demanded was too steep, even if it was warranted. They had not seen nor sensed the markers that designated a Demon Lord’s domain. None had borne witness to any demon activity within Asphodel for thousands of years. Not since the Thirteenth Divine War. Bartering a Holy Guardian for the forgiveness of their folly was a fool’s bargain. When the Holy Guardian accepted he would be swallowed up by the forces of Hell and be bound to them for as long as they pleased. If the Creator’s favor shown on Mazerik he would become an outcaste, but they feared most his corruption. They would be sacrificing Mazerik on the altar of horrid natures. A lamb to sate the powers of evil. 

Mazerik bowed his great head. “On the condition of my soldier’s safe passage in their leave from our meeting, I concede.”

“No!” Fire-eyes shouted and threw himself between the two parties. “You will not have Guardian Iosif!”

“Marik!” The Holy Guardian’s voice rumbled. “Do not disparage this contract, it is for the sake of others I accept this. We have trespassed and must pay the price for our ignorance. This demon could have asked anything of us. If the price to alleviate such a debt is one Angel then I will pay it with joy in my heart.”

Lucifer nodded. “So it shall be. Your soldiers have safe passage as they withdraw from my domain.”

With regret in their hearts, the others bowed to their commander’s wishes. Each glared at the demon and stepped away. They took the crippled hermaphrodite between two of them while Marik ‘fire-eyes’ tended his spell-weaver’s wounds. The green-haired Angel warily stared at the Devil-boy, unwilling to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. As for Mazerik Iosef, the giant remained. He looked after his departing comrades and said a pray that would be perhaps be his last. Mazerik asked the Creator to watch over his creation and guard his warriors as they guarded his people. Though the Holy Guardian knew the Creator had long been dead he kept praying to the one who made him as did all the hosts of Heaven.

He turned to the Devil-boy and nodded. “Do what you will.”

“Come.” Lucifer motioned for the Holy Guardian to follow, his expression had become melancholy.

Angel and devil entered through the totem marked gate into the hillock cave. The compacted dirt was a mix of soft and firm as it sloped downward into the ground. From the light brown soil above, tiny roots hung like chandeliers from between their larger counterparts. The Oak had grown around this tunnel and now held the earth around it so as to make a living structure beneath the surface. Where sunlight could reach no further, small gems of blue and yellow glowed from their places as roots held them close to the ceiling. The passage went down further and curved like a serpent winding its way along the ground before opening into a moderate chamber. Here the walls were of rock and crumbled mortar, and a slab of smooth gypsum sat in the center. Mazerik’s frowned and furrowed his brow. It was not the throne he had been anticipated. Nor was there any sign of demons lurking in the subterranean passage. He had anticipated he would be brought before the Nephilim or the Demon Lord himself to serve as entertainment.

Yet the beautiful blue-skinned demon led him onward through the passage that was tall enough even for one of Mazerik’s height. Mazerik found himself crossing the chamber and through a naturally hidden slip in the rock wall at the back of the chamber. Then they entered the throne room. It was expansive as it was tall, opening up like an overturned bowl. Above them a span of moonstone, so named for the bioluminescent properties and beautiful blue glow it gave off in the dark, spanned the room as its ceiling before it disappeared amongst the light brown rock near the floor. The Holy Guardian gazed up in wonder to see the shadows of roots and trunks of trees where they met the rock. Sunlight seeped in through the thick layers of moonstone and provided lighting by day. By night the moonstone would bath the chamber in soft light as the moons rose in the sky. Even on a black night the moonstone would still glow, having stored light within itself. Mazerik wondered if those that walked above them knew they stepped on one of Thylodon’s most precious minerals.

But that was not all. Rising from the firm dirt floor, a throne of smooth obsidian near the back of the chamber. The wide expanse was deafening in its presence. Mazerik noted the gargantuan size of the seat of power and prepared himself to face one of Hells monstrosities. Furs and cushioned mats lessened hard surfaces so that the recliner would be comfortable while they dictated the actions of their underlings. Most of the fabrics were embroidered by hand and must have been a fortune to purchase in the markets across Tylon. Brilliant blues swirled together with rich aquamarines and subtle reds. Greens, yellows, and a plethora of colors weaved through the pillows, blankets, mats, and cushions. It looked to be more of a lounging chair than a throne.

To Mazerik’s surprise, his escort walked up to the large throne and hopped onto the seat. Even if he took to one side, the demon was a child sitting in a man’s chair. Never the less, the lounging demon had the presence of authority. His cross shaped pupils, an unusual trait even among Infernal beings, did not flicker from the Holy Guardian. Red-yellow glowed as the blue-skinned demon seemed to consider Mazerik. The Angel submitted to the scrutinization. He had already given in. 

“Come.” The demon said and the Holy Guardian moved forward, his form towering over the throne even at its large construction.

The devil stood up on his tip-toes, wings behind him and tails twining over one leg, to lace his arms around Mazerik’s neck. At the moment, taking in the beauty of the creature before him, the Holy Guardian thought that his owner looked cute in an odd way. Though beautiful in ways maidens and feminine inhabitants of creation would be jealous, the small things gave the demon an undeniably unnatural feel. Blue skin, dark wings that glittered with blue and green arteries, sinewy tails with sharp plates of bone, cross shaped pupils and glowing red-yellow irises, and the sensuous curves of an Incubus. For a moment the demon stared into the Guardian’s eyes as if he would kiss him as he cupped the giant’s face in his small, slender hands. But he withdrew back to his cushioned chair, his face becoming haughty.

From the far corner of the room, gold ornaments floated toward them by the demon’s command. Four binding rings etched with hundreds of sigils and tailed with short lengths of miniscule chain. A golden helmet of Corinthian roots also came to complete the collection, a thin rectangular slit down the middle without slits for the Angel’s eyes. The shackles came to rest to the demon’s sides while the helmet rested between his delicate fingers. Those red-yellow eyes gazed upon the metal visage before looking back to Mazerik.

His voice waivered as if hesitant for a moment. “Do you wish to reconsider?”

“No.” Was Mazerik’s stern reply to the cold faced demon. “A broach of contract is not a consequence I wish to incur upon Heaven’s ranks.”

“Very well then. Place the shackles upon your wrists and ankles.” The demon’s eyes went back to the helmet once more.

Large hands, each capable of encompassing a man’s head before crushing it like a fruit, took the golden bindings and placed them as instructed. Once they were in position the metal bands shrunk so they would not slide off but were loose enough that they were comfortable. Mazerik would not have to worry about tripping on the chain links as they were to too short.

“Kneel.” The devil spoke and Mazerick lowered himself to the ground.

Even though he had lowered himself before the throne, Mazerik was still eye to eye with the demon. Stretching forth, the dark mouth of the helmet seemed to open up before him and Mazerik bowed his head to receive. Bound at wrist and ankle he was the demon’s slave from now until eternity.

“No more will you see the light with your own eyes.” The devil cooed. “These chains will be your world and you will be bound to me. Never will they depart from you nor leave your body. To break these will be to break yourself. Death will not save you from this fate. You and I are one now.”

Mazerik closed his eyes for what he perceived to be the last time. The eyeless helmet slipped over his golden mane till the bowl fit snuggly against his crown and points of the wing shaped cheek poked at his chest. Yet when the Holy Guardian opened his eyes he did not find the darkness he had expected. Instead the world swirled before him in as if viewed through a lens. If he focused hard enough he perceived faint blue pigments like moving flaws in painted glass.

“Celestial magic?” Mazerik murmured in confusion.

“Combined with several key enchantments of mortal design, yes.” The beautiful devil stared into the helmet and met Mazerik’s eyes. “Pleased to meet you Mazerik Iosef, Holy Guardian of the Scar-Lands. I am Lucifer, Demon Lord of Judgement, Consequence, and Betrayal.”

The mountainous Angel finally understood his mistake. “I am yours forever until my liege sees fit. On the heights of Heaven and the depths of Hell I swear my loyalty, my strength, and my body unto you. Your land I will guard as virtuously as the gate of Heaven. Of your many subjects, I will observe as you so deem. Your enemies are my enemies. From now until eternity so do I swear my unerring allegiance and being. May Creator himself strike me down if it is not so.”

“May it so be, my blessed servant.” Lucifer leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the Angel’s armored cheek. “However, there is just one last piece to this gilded set.”

Light blue fingers pulled forth the last, and oddest addition to Mazerik’s regalia. A pair of rune etched rings formed together in a ‘v’ with a forty-five degree angle. The slight smirk on Lucifer’s face left little doubt to what the device was intended for. With the slender, effeminate Demon Lord’s guiding instructions the Guardian rose to his feet and parted his loincloth. However, Lucifer seemed content and confident to let the giant finish the act himself.

Mazerik took the entwined rings and drew them to his loins. With some difficulty he fit the top circle around his flaccid manhood, the cool metal enlarging to rub firmly over his veined flesh, and the bottom a little tighter above his large, dangling scrotum. The assembly was perhaps a little deviant for Mazerik’s tastes but even as he grew use to the slight constriction around his loins he knew this was now his place.  

Bare of chest and with only his loincloth left, the Holy Guardian sat on the obsidian throne as he was bid. If the Demon Lord was pleased with his little scheme he showed no sign of it as he slid off the Angel’s lap to the cave floor. Never the less, Mazerik was still as stone while his master walked back to the cave entrance.

“If you will excuse me, there is business I must attend.” The Devil-boy slipped out of the cave without so much as a whisper.

 

 

 

 

 

<Chapter 7>

 

Lucifer cleaved to the side alleys of Sedire. He had no need to but felt that he had no need to interfere with the lives of others. To boldly walk down the main roads would draw attention the Devil-boy neither desired nor needed. If mortals wanted to know of him they would find him, otherwise he wished to be left to his own devices.

Disguised as a well-dressed and young Fjorden nobleman with his tunic and tight leggings and silly short cape, he made his way to the temple as he had before. The wood building seemed the same as last time, a long hall attached to a circular end with a few dozen ambulatory chapels. To the sides of the hall were extended areas to facilitate the temple priests and acolytes. Behind the ambulatory chapels were several rooms that the former priest Yackobien had hypocritically designated ‘rooms of silent prayer’. Though they were more as confessionals in Lucifer’s opinion. The circular chancel had no second floor, the ambulatory rooms not withstanding, and painted windows depicting the great feats of the gods glowed through in the light. Carved wooden columns and arches supported the second floor of the long hall. There the many writes and ways of the divine were studied. However, the many tomes and holy books of the temple were kept in a spell bound vault in the scant catacombs beneath the temple.

But the Devil-boy had not come for the temple itself; rather he had come for its head. As he slipped through the temple doors, he passed the store-keeper’s daughter Yiren. Her skin glowed and life had come back to her eyes as they twinkled with joy. She was in better health then last they had met a few nights ago. Though the small black figure of a raven grew as an ink stain on the back of her shoulder, she showed no lament as to her decision. Her blond hair glittered like gold in the sunlight and all were struck by her beauty they had not noticed before. Yiren’s body had indeed changed, becoming strong and fit and desirable to every man, as had her establishment. With Adelman missing and no trace to be found of him, Yiren was sole heir of both inn and store.

He did not think she would mind the additional favors he had granted to her contract. In a few years Lucifer hoped she would have children and a good husband to share her life with. What remained of it. 

However, Lucifer had other business to attend to. He adjusted the jewel-studded short sword at his side before strolling in through the great wooden doors. In the frantic days since Yackobien’s passing the temple seemed to be operating fairly. The acolytes and ‘chosen’ under the former priest were working hard to maintain order as well as civility.

As for their new high priest, the leader of the flock, he seemed to be up to the task. Lucifer found the thin man talking to an elderly couple in one of the ambulatory chapels. Not wanting to disturb the meeting, he made a show of inspecting the divine icons along the opposite wall while making sure the sunlight glinted off of his fine apparel. Within a few moments the new head priest had shuffled up to him like a moth to flame.

“A thousand blessed springs to you, good sir. I am Korin, head priest of Sedire.” The priest bowed low from the waist, and Lucifer noticed him wring his hands in eager anticipation. “How can a humble servant of the gods aid you this day?”

“There is something. Can we speak in private perhaps?” Lucifer asked as the nobleman.

“Of course.” Korin motioned to the same back rooms Yackobien had once used and placed an understanding arm to the young man’s back. “This way please.”

As they entered the sanctuary of the dark stairs, the Devil-boy began. “Forgive my secrecy but it is a matter close to my heart. I come from the north as most of my kin, and bring with me the traditions of old. Tradition runs deep in my family as well as my beliefs and I was wondering if your temple could accommodate one more idol?”

“What manner of tradition and god do you worship?” Korin clasped his hands behind his back.

“One of the older gods of my people, Orgrenen the Conqueror.” The fake nobleman said. “Before you draw your judgement upon the matter, please consider my proposal. I am well aware of Orgrenen’s reputation among outsiders, those not of Fjorden blood. He is seen as a tyrant and a god of war. Despite his darkness, Orgrenen is also a god of rebirth and brings new crops to my people.”

Korin nodded as if he understood. What the noble said was only partially true. The old Fjorden deity known as Orgrenen did indeed bring bountiful spring crops but only if the fields were soaked in blood. A naïve fool would place Orgrenen next to the likes of Woadan or Freyda.

“In anticipation of other’s resentment, I ask that the idol I have be placed in the temple but in a private room where others may not take offense to my worship.” As they reached the back rooms above the ambulatories, Lucifer drew two bags from his sides. “For your discretion I am willing to bequeath some of my family’s wealth to the temple.”

The first bag was heavy and Korin opened it to see a mound of gold that could buy him enough land to be a lord. He licked his lips in anticipation and he opened the second bag, equal in size to the first but not as heavy. Inside sparkled perfectly cut gems of every shape, size, and color. A fortune worthy to be the hoard of a young dragon. Korin grinned despite himself.

The head priest of Sedire smiled benevolently at the young Fjorden nobleman. “Worry not good sir, the temple of Sedire accepts all gods. Come next morning with the idol and we will arrange a room for your Orgrenen. And do not worry, your faith in Orgrenen is not something to be ashamed of. He is a good god and will be held in esteem just as the others who are worshiped here.”

Red-Yellow eyes glowed. “I was afraid you might say that.”

When the priests and acolytes found Korin after he had been missing, they discovered him in the same room Yackobien had been murdered in. Priceless gems had been gorged into his eyes and had been drowned in gold coins. The glittering currency spilled out of his gaping mouth to the floor. His hands had been severed and lay in a pool of blood at his feet with a few scattered jewels. Above his head scrawled on the wall and overlaid with blood was the same message as before.

‘Try again’.

 

▲

 

Lucifer lounged on the muscular lap of his Angel as Mazerik sat on the obsidian throne. Neither had spoken a word since the Holy Guardian had accepted his place at the Demon Lord’s side, nor was there need to. In silence they communed with one another as mortal time slipped by.

After a few moments rest, the Demon Lord rose sensuously from his place and leapt like a feather down to the cave floor. With the false priest dead in the house of the gods he had given Sedire another chance, but even with this small accomplishment his work was not yet done. It had been some years since he had visited the Elsadyrin. Arhimand of the Fiyre had passed into the next life though his memory lived on. Only his grandchildren and great grandchildren still tended the western forests near the border. They were a well-mannered, if reclusive, people and only bothered themselves in the affairs of humans when they felt their sanctity disrupted.

Their more common kin, the Cylest, had established something of a merchant company in Asphodel. The Lymark Guild served not only as a place of business for the Elsadyrin but also as a society where others of their kind could congregate without harassment.

Fjorden, Caukasiaz, as well as a few Pershians and Aziaks made up the human population and though there had been several thousand years of peace, the Afrikaz clans to the east and south would no doubt perceive Asphodel as weak. If, that is, had Lucifer spun more than a few enchantments over the land. It would take more than the greed or wrath of men to stir an army to invade.

However, there was also danger within the borders of his realm. Orcs and Goblins were not an immediate threat as the nomadic tribes could be reasoned with. Those few that wandered his lands were clear of mind and did not worship their Infernal creators as some of their kind did. Ogres were another matter. Rarely did the spawn of Cambions and Giants deviate from dark practices. Those who had forsaken the Demon Lords still clung to dark gods.

To the west, Helset was amassing mortal forces from various kingdoms in his domain. Though Lucifer was confident a struggle between himself and the Olympian would result in victory, his worry was with the kingdom. He had devoted years to see this land flourish once more. Another war would bring ruin to all that he had grown.

In a flurry of blue flame and smoky ash, Lucifer teleported himself to the top of his oak tree atop the hill. His eyes peered unhindered over the leagues of land to each corner of the kingdom. Many threats, seen and unseen, would assault his domain in the times ahead. Lucifer considered a moment where he was needed before disappearing again in flickers of blue and ash.

 

▲

 

The army of mercenaries and conscripts knocked shields with warriors of the noble houses. On the Drakkan Plains they had gathered under the banner of a redeeming crusade. Together they would sweep the east clean of its infidelity and impurities. For gods and gold they prepared to march. On the eve of the crusade supply wagons bearing arms, armor, food, and drink flowed into the great expanse of tents that sat on the plain. The priests prayed to Dakar, the god of war and conquest, to Freyda, mother of all, to Woadan, god head and chief in the heavens, and to Helset (Haltuk?) their patron.

As the last of the stores were put in place an error went unnoticed by the eager, and at the moment drunk, soldiers while they celebrated into the night. Magical items and inflammable materials were placed next to the entire store of liquid spirits the army kept. Inert, the assembly posed no problem and would be moved out in the morning as the army spread out.

Far to the east, Lucifer crouched on a tree top watching the ensembly from his vantage point. He lay at the very edge of his border and the beginning of Helset’s territory, where forest abruptly stopped and a great plain stretched to the west. The Demon Lord had considered sending Mazerik to devastate the oncoming wave of war but it would not do well to utilize his warrior against a Celestial opponent. At least not yet.

He could stealthily infiltrate Helset’s domain, knowledge of all forms of magic as well as the multitude of techniques recorded by Balthat since the beginning was his to wield. But again, Lucifer did not wish to lock horns with an army. Thus his final, and relegated only option, was to combat Helset’s forces by incongruent means.

Lucifer pulled out his long-stemmed elephant-foot pipe of black wood with rings of bronze along the length, and lit the special blend just in time to see the brilliant flash on the horizon followed by the fiery column that could be seen for many leagues. The bowl glowed a faint blue-green as the Devil-boy drew in a breath before sighing a cloud of smoke out the side of his mouth. It took several minutes before the concussive sound wave thundered across the plains.

He took another draw from his pipe, handling the intricate bowl between his slender fingers. _If at first one does not succeed, destroy all evidence it was you that tried._

 

▲

 

Ogres of the hilled plains were far easily dealt with. Practicing dark rituals for centuries and often enacted savage displays of devotion. All it took was a misplaced step that their drunken minds did not perceive. Something to the effect of sorting the wrong ingredients and forgetting to complete their circle. A shoddy bit of scrawling here, a spell-weaver fallen asleep there, and a certain message to an antagonistic party was all it took to bring down the great Ogre tribe once called Kogern.

In a single night the earth beneath the Ogre camp collapsed and swallowed them whole. When the various races of Asphodel met to discuss what had transpired, many could not answer. Representatives of the Asphodel Fae, a delegate known as Ring, were the only ones present who truly knew the events that had unfolded. It was they who brought the disruptive Ogres low and crushed in the earth they so sought to gain.

For the many years after, the Fae would remember the debt they owed.

 

▲

 

In response to the two-fold deaths of Sedire’s priests, the Church of the Divine Being dispatched one of its own to oversee matters in the byway village. Abriham Smithson, of average height and looks and bearing the utilitarian robes of the Church of the Divine Being, was sent from the capital of Asphodel. Though he had spent most his life in the city of Alyth, Abriham was well read in the understanding of Celestials and Infernals.

Unlike other religions across Thylodon, the Church of the Divine Being worshiped one entity before all. A being they believed came before all others. Having no name or origin or story to recount, such a deity was hard to comprehend in a land that battle back and forth in the name of many gods. Pantheons rose and fell while others remained. Yet the memories of mortals were short and some questions could not be answered with easy solutions.

Flicking aside the annoying bangs that had grown since his last bowl-cut, Abriham went about cleaning and reordering the temple of Sedire. Nothing was too out of place. However, the young man was forced to burn one or two idols in a cleansing ceremony. Both had been of minor deities who grew from the dark natures of mortals. To leave their presence unhindered within the temple would invite evil. Perhaps just as it had with the previous two priests.

Abriham, however, could not help but consider the murders. Both were grotesque and typical of demonic influence. Even if there were no Infernal schemes involved something of this magnitude did not go without notice. And then there was the ominous note ‘try again’. The new priest could not help but feel there was a certain expectation that came with his new position. Though they did not say it, he was not expected to live long. Never the less, Abriham would thrive where the others had not. He spent his first nights in the sanctuary preparing and praying to the gods. He prayed to Woadan, Freyda and her sister Fais, Doraka, and to Anoup and his wife Anput ( **? _????_** ). And to his nameless god who had no alter or idol to speak of, yet the faithful worshiped him still. Of the lesser entities he offered incense but left their worship to the villagers who would know their writes better than he. His concern was with the sanctity of his temple and of Sedire itself.

With every day that passed, Abriham worked fervently and with great faith in his duty. Night and day he prayed to the gods. On behalf of the village he would intercede before the divine entities. And the gods favored him. In the days of Abriham Smithson the village of Sedire saw a revival in life as they knew it. Though Sedire did not become a monolith of prosperity, its people enjoyed a certain happiness they had somehow missed before. In these days Abriham felt something odd as if there was a fleeting shadow at the corner of his vision. An invisible follower who stalked his footsteps. A presence at his shoulder.

It was in the season of the new year when winter began to lose its hold on the land that Abriham truly felt the lingering presence for the first time. Having blessed those who came to worship for the night, the priest set himself about to clean after his flock. Candles and incense glowed in the dark chapels of the gods. As he worked, Abriham felt that creeping presence at his back and when he turned to confront it he felt drawn to it as if in challenge. The head priest gathered his things and prepared for whatever he could before following the elusive shadow. Up and away from the hall he raced up stairs to the second floor. To his confusion, it led him to the front of the temple.

Abriham threw wide a second floor window only to step back in shock. Floating on the air before him, just outside the shuttered window, was a young girl in a black dress. She looked no older than forty-eight seasons yet her dark eyes were wells of some dark, malignant thing. Her skin was of the palest alabaster that glowed in the moonlight and her hair the color of crow’s feathers. Bare of foot, she crouched with chin resting in her small hands. The strange girl wore no bracelet or ornament, only the intricate dress that billowed in the cold New Year air. It was then that Abriham realized the girl’s breath was not clouded as his was. No cloud of vapor left nostril or mouth. Only black eyes staring ceaselessly.

“In the name of the gods,” Abriham readied himself, holding forth a beaded chain marked with a Celestial mantra and drawing a blessed blade of silver. “I rebuke you. You hold no sway here. Be gone and come no more.”

“Very well.” The girl’s voice was music of the most tempting and inviting variety. “I wished to test your faith. Two out of three is not bad I suppose.”

“You murdered the two previous head priests?” Abriham’s eyes narrowed. “Yackobien and Korin? Why?”

“For the same reason I am not permitted to come into the temple unless by force.” The girl stretched a hand to touch the raised shutter only to have it engulfed in yellow flame.

As soon as she withdrew the offending appendage the flame ceased to leave no mark on her skin. Cold sweat rolled down Abriham’s back. He could not help but feel out of his depth. The head priest gritted his teeth and steeled himself.

_This thing murdered two priests to clear the way for me? Just so it would not be allowed to enter the temple without being noticed._ He held the beaded chain tighter. “Leave then. You have overstayed your welcome.”

She smiled pleasantly, Abriham almost thought it genuine. “Just so. Do not falter in your faith, Abriham Smithson.”

The girl vanished in blue embers and smoke. Abriham could not help but wonder as he stared into the cold starry night if it was the Divine Being who led him to this place.

 

▲

 

Lucifer returned to his home, the under-hill cave he called his tomb, and shivered at the cold. He had shed the illusion used to speak to the priest and was now as he had been since his ‘birth’. The Demon Lord blew into his hands before heading inside past the stone totems.

Contrary to belief, demons did feel. The opposite, in fact, was the truth. Every demon was hypersensitive. Their every sense from hearing to smell was far above that of any mortal. A feather touch was lightening upon the skin and a whisper would be deafening without caution. Just as their senses were head and shoulder above all others, demons also could manipulate them at will. While it was principle amongst the Infernals that feeling was the evidence of life, overabundance would kill. It would be a sorry sight to see a simple soldier laid low by a stubbed toe. Demons learned to control their senses in every aspect, least they fall prey to them in a moment of weakness.

Like a living monument, Mazerik sat on the obsidian throne awaiting the return of his master. His armor was no longer needed as his shackles would summon the protective plates to his body at will. Bare save for the sandals that shod his feet and the loincloth that did little to cover the proportionate bulge that were his loins. Beneath the indiscrete cloth the Guardian grew hard at his master’s return and the Demon Lord slid up onto Mazerik’s lap in the most sensuous way. The devil’s silken blue flesh was alight with feeling. His being buzzed with anticipation. With his work done for a time, Lucifer would indulge himself with a treat.

With wings and tails stowed away he climbed up the Angel’s broad chest. Compared to the giant he appeared little more than a wanting youth grappling for the attention of a man. As he knelt above Mazeriks loins Lucifer used his feet to stir the Guardian to hardness, sliding the smooth soles up and down the covered length. He let his slender fingers rove over the hard, muscled flesh of Mazerik’s chest. An appreciative moan echoed from his lips as he pushed a finger up against one of the Guardian’s pink nipples. Lucifer licked up the steel armor of flesh to the growing bud before seizing it between suckling lips.

The Demon Lord pulled and kneaded Mazerik’s nipples, one in his left hand and the other between his lips. He ground his hips against the Guardian’s hardened belly; pressing his own manhood against the wall of flesh. Below, his feet and toes were at work. While one foot rubbed the great length against between sole and opposing ankle, the other dangled underneath and seized the loose skin containing the large dangling sacks that were constricted by the Demon Lord’s tight present. He pinched the loose flesh and fondled what he could of the massive orbs between dexterous toes.

Solitary and unmoving did the Holy Guardian sit. He did not move a muscle save to draw breath. The great warrior of Heaven allowed his master to bring his arousal to the front as was his wish. Mazerik was a statue of living flesh, pleasing his master in pliant obedience.

Looking back at his work, Lucifer saw the great pillar of Heaven rise from the holy cloth. His effeminate form shuddered with glee. The Demon Lord stood on his servant’s expansive thighs before loosening the silken loincloth so that it fell away. He giggled as he admired the great length that rivaled Balthat’s own. And beneath it lay massive orbs, each larger than the Demon Lord’s head. The final piece to Mazerik’s armor clenched loosely at the root of his dangling sacks so it appeared that they hung below a golden gate. Likewise the base of his shaft was encircled by the golden embrace of the metal seal.

He sunk down to onto the heated pillar. The Demon Lord shimmied back and forth on the shaft, rubbing his own loins against the Angel’s. His peach-sized orbs caressing the hardening manhood as Lucifer’s ridged cock stroked against the greater appendage. He ingrained it physically into the Guardian’s mind as to who was the lead in this carnal act.

A bead of pearly white, almost shining with power, seeped out of Mazerik’s tip. Lucifer shed his clothes so that nothing stood between soft and hard flesh. He reached back with both hands as he arched his body against the Guardian’s broad chest. Lucifer’s dark blue blossoms had become hardened nubs as they strained against his servant’s muscles. One blue hand pulled aside his pliant cheeks and sank a slender finger past his tight pucker with a wet squelch. The other grabbed at Mazerik’s throbbing shaft and, stroking it with a teasing backhand, pulled it up to the crevasse of the Demon Lord’s rear.

Face contorted in building pleasure, Lucifer nibbled at his lip before taking Mazerik’s left nipple between tongue and teeth. He moaned as an adulterer would. Aching for the piece of Heaven’s property held in his left. Still the Angel remained silent and statuesque.

Second and third fingers joined the first as the Demon Lord debauched himself before his servant. Lucifer scissored the digits back and forth inside his unnatural passage. He had already become wet anticipating the depraved act in the coming moments and clear liquid glinted on his fingers in the moonstone lit room. He panted as he opened his fingers as far as naturally possible to expose his tight rear hole. With the other hand, he pulled the angelic manhood up against his bottom and pressed back.

A squeak echoed aloud in the chamber as the circumferential difference became evident. But the Demon Lord acted as the eager harlot willing to prove herself. He slid back against the thick head. The glans alone was larger than his fist, perhaps both, and it dug against the clenching ring of his entrance. Turquoise inner flesh parted before a battering ram of gargantuan proportions.

The Demon Lord hissed and closed his eyes. He concentrated on staying loose while sinking further and further onto Mazerik’s mighty shaft. Expanding his tight ring, it was like no other in feeling. Even the Demon Lord felt the warmth of the Angel’s embrace. It was unlike a demon’s passion or a mortal’s affection. This was love at its root.

And with a slippery pop Lucifer welcomed it in. He smiled through a pained sigh. The glans felt like a fist inside him. It perched just inside him like a child waiting to be born.

Lucifer glanced up at the helmed face. He knew the Guardian could see him clear as day and feel every twitch of his wet hole as it stretched open for Mazerik. With a determined look and a grunt, the Demon Lord unceremoniously sunk further down until his body had eclipsed Mazerik’s manhood. Its thick proportions could clearly be seen as it pressed against Lucifer’s organs. But the Demon Lord was not satisfied until his shapely buttocks gently slapped against the Guardian’s inner thighs. The golden ring at Mazerik’s root had grown warm against the hardened skin and tight in a comfortable way. Lucifer’s own fleshy ring met the binding gold and he ceased his downward advance. Though the Guardian’s shaft stretched him further than most, wet juices flowed out of the Demon Lord’s ass. A lingering reminder of his time as Balthat’s slave.

He knelt on the Guardian’s lap for a while, his legs splayed to the side with feet dipping down between and his body pressing into his lover with a bulge pressing against his rippling abdomen. The blue-skinned Demon Lord stared at Mazerik’s hardened muscles, tougher than iron, and roved a hand over the taunt plates. His head rested against the Guardian’s chest with his horns kept carefully away from Mazerik’s face.

Voice of soft lyrics spoke in the absence. A pained tone inquiring to a living stone. “Do you hate me?”

Unmoving did the Holy Guardian sit on the Demon Lord’s fur covered throne. Lucifer stirred from his though and drew his hips up as he slithered toward the helmed face of Mazerik. He eyed his stationary companion before slipping back down the massive shaft. With slow curls of his hips the Demon Lord eased off of the pillar of flesh before bucking back down and forward, sinking the lance deep in his bowls once again. He polished the mighty manhood till it shown in the moonstone light with his slick juices. Each downward pitch brought an echo throughout the chamber. The Demon Lord’s tight hole squelching around Mazerik’s probing phallus.

As he moved up and down, Lucifer clutched at the bigger man’s chest. The firm and hairless expanse afforded him security from the great need pressing around inside him. But it was different than before. Of the demonic lovers Lucifer had served and served in turn none had been true. Their desire encompassed their need. Mazerik was none of this. He let the Demon Lord move through his frustrations as a good slave. The Guardian did not judge or speak against his master. He merely sat and provided Lucifer with pleasure. The Angel’s shaft filling him not with desire but care.

Trembling lips parted in a whimper as Lucifer jived around, twisting his hips as he went. He was filled as never before. This love, this abundance, this warmth was spearing inside him and jutting up against his stomach. The Demon Lord could not get enough of it. Not since his birth had he felt so whole. Not in a long time.

Hard abdominal muscles squeezed the Demon Lord’s lesser phallus between walls of Angelic and blue protruding flesh. His erection creaming in a pre soaked environment of taut muscle. His own loins flattened almost painfully against the enchanted gold ring every time he dropped. And he would savor every moment of it.

With renewed fury, Lucifer took hold of the great Angel’s shoulders and heaved himself down on Mazerik’s manhood with greater power. Bludgeoning veins throbbed up the length of the shaft and pulsed throughout the Demon Lord’s occupied rear. The thundering echo of Mazerik’s heartbeat was thunder against his inner walls. For a moment Lucifer rose up to his feet and the glans came halfway out with a pop.

A moment of heated breath passed between them. Red-yellow eyes stared into the golden helm from beneath smoky auburn locks. The Demon Lord’s face was caught in ecstasy and fornication. But in the depths that deadly cunning was still there. Lingering just beyond sight like a stalking beast.

Dropping his head, Lucifer’s hips came crashing back down the entire length of Mazerik’s slick shaft. He pulled the phallus out of him before squatting down and then up and down. Beads of sweat formed on Lucifer’s effeminate form, flowing in droplets over his curves as he impaled himself on the giant manhood. His loins flopped about, slippery with leaked precum and sweat from the Angel’s own hard body, to smack against an indomitable wall of muscle. Sweet moans filled the Demon Lord’s chamber and echoed throughout the underground. He would savor every moment of this delight.

Caught up in his euphoric surge, Lucifer seized the Guardian’s nipples ungently between slender and wayward fingers. His tongue lashed out to rove over the muscled expanse and sip at the dew of perspiration. Sharp teeth left little marks along Mazerik’s sternum as the Demon Lord squatted up and down, birthing the Guardian’s shaft again and again.

A sudden jerk of animation seized the Holy Guardian. Mazerik’s large hands snapped around the Demon Lord’s slender ankles and bent the devil over. He stretched Lucifer’s legs over him, the Demon Lord’s arms going wide to keep himself anchored on the Guardian’s lap, until the devil was spread with his ankles over to his shoulders and Mazerik’s phallus outlined against his belly. The giant stilled for a moment, letting the dynamics subtly shift, and gave a meaningful jerk of his hips. Throbbing flesh punched into Lucifer’s bowels and the Demon Lord winked back with a strained grin. He rolled his hips back into the Guardian’s own, strained phallus flicking around as he did.

But Mazerik did not rise to the bait. He settled back into his stationary pose, if not with an animated change. The Guardian’s chest heaved up and he let out a billowing sigh. Large hands slipped loose of slender ankles to gently rest against sensuous hips.

The Demon Lord rolled over with a smirk teasing his lips as he eyed his angelic servant. Hands on the crag like knees, Lucifer worked his ass back toward Mazerik until his stretched flesh once again touched the cockring. Like a moody cat the Demon Lords arched his back and slowly leaned back until his voluptuous cheeks pressed against the Guardian’s hard abdominals. In the crevasse of Mazerik’s thighs his demonhood twitched merrily as a pup’s tail. Precum leaked from the gasping tip and his constrained orbs bucked ever so slightly. The Guardian’s cock could still be seen pressing against the Demon Lord’s abdominal wall, stretching against the tight muscles of his belly and spearing up against his stomach.

A blue hand roved through smoky auburn hair as Lucifer leaned back. He knelt on the altar of Mazerik’s lap and engorged himself upon the heavenly pillar that was his manhood. Calves resting on powerful thighs, The Demon Lord appeared as a virginal sacrifice offered to depraved gods. The devil gave a sweet moan, holding a hand to his pressed belly, and gave a whimsical smile. Sweat slick bodies connected by raw, throbbing flesh. The pair could go on like this, fornicating and pleasuring each other while eons passed them by. But even sweet moments such as these were bound to end.

With Mazerik’s own need throbbing in anticipation, Lucifer began his rolling sways once more. Placing his hands back on the Guardian’s chest and using him as leverage, the Demon Lord bounced until his whole body was trembling with sensation. As his hard phallus flopped about against thigh, belly, and cordoned ball sack, Lucifer was pleasured from within. Mazerik’s width pressed his walls as they curled about him in rhapsody. His prostate, over sensitive and all but bruised from the constant pressure, echoed with every thrust of Mazerik’s mighty shaft. Thundering peals of sensation reverberated throughout the Demon Lord’s being as his slick ass gulp greedily at his slave’s manhood.

A grunt rumbled in the Guardian’s chest. Sign that he too was close to the finish. In a fury, Lucifer renewed his vigorous thrusting. He slammed his hips down again and again. The Demon Lord impaled himself upon the angelic cock with whimpering mewls upon his lips. All the while the bulging prominence speared over the smaller phallus and up to his belly where it was held but a moment before being withdraw. Back and forth the gigantic manhood went, stretching wide the suckling ass and mashing down on Lucifer’s prostate, while the Demon Lord’s own thumped up against it outside the barrier of silken blue flesh. The Guardian gave a deep moan as his loins drew themselves in. Below in the alcove of his powerful thighs, great orbs jerked up only to be met by the ever so tight ring of enchanted gold. Lucifer felt the throb of Mazerik’s manhood deep inside him and mashed down his hips, speeding up.

Holy Guardian of the Scar-Lands gave one last grunt before his balls jerked inward, pressing against the enchanted ring and celestial seed speeding up into his shaft. Lucifer arched his back and threw back his head. His mind going numb as he felt the Guardian’s seed burst within his depths.

The Demon Lord’s body, conditioned by untold time within the clutches of Balthat, responded in kind. Lucifer’s mouth hung open in a deep, feminine moan as his pearly seed spurted like a geyser from his throbbing cock. As warm cum filled his belly, the Demon Lord’s seed was shot in several long streams to the entrance of the chamber. Lucifer’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he savored the thundering pleasure passing through him. He rolled his hips slightly and his slave gave a slight jerk, sending cum and cock deeper into Lucifer’s bowels as well as his own seed spiraling toward the front door.

No longer was the bulging phallus outlined against the Demon Lord’s stomach but a prominent swelling of cum had taken its place. All at once, Lucifer slumped back against his servant’s chest. His cock still weakly spurted shots of seed until there was little more than a weak dribble escaping the tip. The swelling in his belly had stopped short of fully blooming pregnancy and silvery white cum oozed out of his stretched hole. Lucifer basked in the heated afterglow, his sweaty oiled body resting against Mazerik’s own as they sat in silence once more.

The Holy Guardian made to move his master into a more comfortable position but a gentle hand ceased his efforts. Tender touches that the Demon Lord had never enacted before calmed Mazerik and eased the Guardian back to his own comfort onto the obsidian throne.

A quiver that Mazerik had never heard before echoed in the Demon Lord’s voice. It was the echo of something deep within his spirit, an unconscious pain arching through his being, and made manifest in this moment of weakness. At this the Holy Guardian stilled and sat obediently.

“Please stay. Don’t leave me.”


	2. The Wild Aspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Devil has taken hold of his kingdom and the Demon Lords will honor their debts for a time. Morningstar has claimed his right. None dare oppose him yet. But time means nothing to immortals, and there are more dangers than that of divine beings. His Angelic servant, Mazerik, and he guard the land while the keeper of souls waits in Hell below. What trials await the new Demon Lord, ruler of judgement and consequence, none can be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished . . .

<Chapter 1>

 

An odd thing magic. One of the foremost aspects of creation yet its nature is elusive as wind. No matter how hard or dedicated one grasps at the matter they will never succeed in taking ahold of it. Only the true gods, Demon Lords and the Olympians, know of its origins. And only they can truly wield its force. For that is the principle of all magic. A divine gift.

Yet such gifts can become curses in as much as they may be blessings. Contrived from the wellness of existence, Demon Lords beckoned dark thoughts to the minds of others. So were the dark arts formed and dark beings to practice them. Goblins, Ogres, Orcs, Giants, and more. For misery loves company.

With every race of beings the Olympians created, the Demon Lords corrupted. Light and darkness battled in ceaseless medieval brutality. Locked in eternal feudalistic struggled as gods played long games with their mortal servants.

Asphodel, kingdom of the Demon Lord Lucifer, sat peacefully at the heart of what once had been known as the Scar-Lands. Resting between ocean and sea were leagues of seemingly endless plains, forests, hills, mountains, rivers, and lakes. Though small, the kingdom was of great importance as it was the crossroads of an ancient highway that survived to the present day. The road had been constructed by the Cylest back when the kingdom was young and under the rule of the Fiyre who had led their people here as the first settlers. Neither war nor deluge had shifted the great cobblestone byway as much as a cubit. Though the Fiyre had retreated into the western forests, the Fae into the woods and hills, and the dark born races to their shadows, Asphodel yet prospered under the three moons of Thylodon. Humans claimed hold of Asphodel and in the few walled cities their laws were followed. Athyl, the capital, watched guard over the southern plains and forests while the village of Sedire was left as an outpost further to the interior. Tyrhin, the second walled city of Asphodel, lay further to the south of the capital and secured the southern route since the days of old. Unknown to all but a handful, the Demon lord Lucifer dwelt in his tomb north of Sedire beneath an oak-crowned hill.

It was he who had established the borders of the kingdom and had kept the invading forces at bay. He watched over his land with eagle eyes as he guided unfolding events from his throne. Mazerik the Holy Guardian, slave and contract-bound servant of Lucifer, was his masters strong right hand. Where the Demon Lord considered a more persuasive touch was needed, Mazerik was sent. Lucifer, on the other hand, handled the delicate things.

So events unfolded for several hundred years. Yiren, only child and mother of many, passed from the mortal coil. The Church of the Divine Being continued to send their disciples in order to serve as head priests for Sedire after the late Abriham. Orcs had settled next men, stray Dwarves and Gnomes took residence in the cities, and other races mingled together in shifting peace pacts.

It was in this time of sanctity that the unfolding threads of fate began to unravel. Oft times the gifts most needed come in the oddest of packages. Just so, temptation or blessing could enter one’s house. Only a discerning heart may know the truth of the matter.

In the fall of Numerin as the Elsadyrin marked the full glory of Phylo as the Spinning One made its long journey across the great sky, something odd entered the domain of Lucifer. Small and what one might consider insignificant. However, even the smallest of threads make up the grand tapestry that is life. No one knew this better than the masters of Thylodon. The Demon Lords and their adversaries, the Olympians.

Tyft Onrak had been many things and called many names. Thief of Azgrabad, rogue, assassin of twilight, drunkard, wench, whore of monsters, harlot, mercenary, witch of the green swamps, concubine to the dark gods. She was daughter of a lesser priestess and a tribe warrior, conceived in a ritual celebrating bountiful harvest. Born to the tribe, symbol of the Inverted Gem still marred the turquoise-jade skin along her right shoulder blade. It was her one mark of origin. A memento to remind the Goblin of a history she barely knew.

In her quest for adventure and excitement, Tyft Onrak’s travels brought her to the small kingdom of Asphodel. Though not welcome among the humans, Dwarves, Gnomes, and other upright races, Tyft’s coin and gaiety was more than welcome in the homes of Orcs who had settled there. The first few days she spent with the wandering Omoru tribe who kept their nomadic traditions. From there the Goblin acclimated to more civilized areas. First the southernmost city, Tyrhin, and then to the capital, Alyth. Among the taverns, inns, and brew houses Tyft found the wonders of Asphodel pleasing to the body and the spirit. Especially when taken in large quantities. The last night she spent in Alyth, before escaping the city guard, was amidst a pile of lovers both male and female.

With fur coat wrapped tight around her, the Goblin ventured north to Sedire and spent a night at the Spear-spoked Wheel inn trading stories with the people. In the outpost town humans held the seats of authority with the remaining peoples being a variety of transients who had settled. The Church of the Divine Being all but ran the temple of Sedire. Tyft enjoyed the small village’s proclivities to the fullest, drinking with travelers, belting out marching songs, wooing any maidens she crossed paths with, and lazed away the fall days without so much as a care.

As winter came, great snow drifts blew in from the north. Only the brave few would venture out to travel the great highway and many paths throughout the kingdom. Or the considerably drunk.

 

▲

 

The Goblin known as Tyft Onrak stumbled through snow and dark trees without heeding the biting cold. She took another pull from the liquor filled gourd and quickly stowed her arm beneath the warm furs of her cloak. Land heaved and slipped sideways all around her as Tyft stumbled ever deeper into the perilous snow storm. She had been out drinking and whoring. Her memories were full of silken thighs, bountiful breasts, and barrels of wondrous liquor. In the mists that clouded her memory, Tyft faintly remembered leaving Sedire belting out a good song. The Goblin had drunk far more than she had before. But what she needed most right now was a wheel of cheese and bread. Spirits always went well with cheese and bread.

In the darkness she made her way to light and found herself headed down. Tyft giggled to herself as she tumbled into the dirt wall. _Like a mole hole!_

Glittering blue lights, like stars in an earthen sky, lit the way above her. In her deluded state, Tyft snatched at what she perceived to be lightning bugs with her three fingered hands and staggered even further into the earth beneath. Her foot snagged a stray root and the Goblin went tumbling down the tunnel, hissing and cursing as she went. When Tyft finally did come to a stop, splayed out on the floor, she noticed the blue glowing expanse above her.

Feet wobbling beneath her, Tyft the witch stood and wandered about the great room mesmerized by the odd sky above her. In her stupor she did not noticed the back wall until she met it face first.

Tyft fell back on her rear with a groan and held her three-fingered hands up to her nose (descriptive). “Groadan’s balls.” She hissed, pain leaking through her liquor induced paradise. “That’s gunna hurt y’know. Squeekling shiny rocks. Showed them.”

Once again standing to her feet, Tyft felt her way along the wall in front as if seeking to find a face to punch. Instead her deft hands found a crevice obscured to the naked eye. With mumbled threats of no particular potency she shimmied through the crack in the wall, her cloak and several loose tied pouches coming off in the process. Tyft popped out in a much odder chamber. She squinted around to see the room, eyes (descriptive) taking in the domed interior. Near the middle, standing out like a mountain amongst plains, a large throne of dark stone seemed to grow from the ground beneath; and upon the throne sat an imposing giant of brilliant visage.

The Goblin grinned from ear to ear as she shuffled forward, cloak and gourd forgotten. As she neared the kingly seat the giant became greater in her vision. His muscle-bound form, clad only in a rich loincloth, rippled with effortless power and strength. Thick bracelets of gold looped around his wrists and ankles. A golden helm of the most exquisite make shrouded his features with only a single slit down the middle hinting at the noble features beneath. A tangle of golden hair burnished with a slight bronze color peaked out in a thick braid over one shoulder.

She hiccupped as she called out. “So you’re the head chief in this place?”

The giant moved not.

“Got any good stuff?” Tyft’s slurred speech echoed around the hidden chamber. “Gods always got the besht stuff. Bet’ch’ou have some. Somewhere behind that chair you sittin’ on.”

Gleaming golden helm, eyeless and voiceless, remained inert as a statue.

“Sure could use a sig, could out y’know?” The Goblin plopped down and crossed her legs, a dull-eyed smile on her face. “I don’t suppose you’d mind sharin’ a bit? Cuddle together, strength in bundles and warm in pairs and all that.”

More silence.

“Well, don’t mind me then.” She tried to get up, failing to realize her legs were still crossed and attempting to stand anyway.

A finger on the enthroned figure moved up, alighting with power before tapping back down onto the black stone. No matter how Tyft struggled she failed to get her feet from under her. Though the giant need not have bothered, the Goblin was far to intoxicated with alcohol to make coordinated efforts. Moments passed as the imposing figure sat and watched over the bumbling Tyft. The simple enchantment that could easily undone kept her from reaching a certain height before her center of balance would be tipped. Even so, the Goblin’s equilibrium was already taxed with the diluting effects of alcohol flowing through the passageways of her brain. She floundered for the better part of an hour, cursing and mumbling as both booze and magic kept her down.

“And what do we have here?” A voice like musical wind itself reached the Goblin’s large ears, but it was a few more moments before Tyft understood what was spoken.

Turning, her ears (descriptive) swiveled to match direction to voice. Her eyes followed trails of air with less success. She turned around to behold one of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen.

A demon of blue skin and captivating red-yellow eyes set around cross shaped pupils. Slick muscled form, lithe and tight as a doe. His slender frame was decorated in lush furs forming long-sleeved vest and baggy trousers. Long, slender fingers bore no rings and wrists not circled by bracelets. Smokey auburn hair fell in soft curls past his shoulders, a short braid woven on the left side. Thin lips remained passive yet achingly sensuous. Sharp features gave him a haunting look as the demon took measure of Tyft. A stark complexion of male and female structures flowed together so that the Goblin had trouble distinguishing if he was wholly man or woman. Ribbed horns of a faint ‘s’ shape grew from his forehead and glowed red as if formed from embers. Dark wings spread out behind him, and glittered in veined blues and greens.

The youthful demon spoke, his voice a captivating lyric whispered on the breeze. “An intriguing guest for a cold winter night. Very interesting indeed. Is that Barnaby’s whiskey I smell? Only the best of Sedire is served in Yiren’s inn.”

“Wull, I sort’a-” Tyft had some trouble concentrating. _How did I get here? I was drinking with some girls and drinking in a tavern. Where wat that?_

“Hmm.” He smirked at the Goblin’s confusion. “Just as lost as we are it seems. It matters little; please, take a seat.”

Tyft felt herself falling only to land in a small bed of cushions. In a heavy blink the demon youth had likewise sate down across from her and drew out a long stemmed pipe. He tapped the bowl twice before pugging it and lighting the mix with a snap of his fingers. Thin lips slipped over the head, taking in a breath to give blue light from the bowl, and blew out a wispy cloud of cirrus smoke to the side.

Her mouth watered at the smell of weed smoke. It was the demon’s own roll most likely. It smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood and other spices the Goblin could not identify. The demon sat with the measured leisure of a harem slave and comfort of a king sure of his authority as he leaned back into the appearing cushions. His eyes roved over the less cordial Tyft as she floundered to find a suitable position.

“Tell me,” The demon’s smirk had abated a little. “How can we help a child of the Inverted Gem?”

Tyft’s mind hesitated, wheels turning as she struggled to coordinate her thoughts. “I jush wanted a place away fhrom the storm.”

“Hmm. Very well.” He leaned back further into his cushions. “Take a sip of your drink before it gets cold. It will alleviate some of your intoxication.”

“But I-” She stopped when she realized a small tea cup the Aziaks often used was in her hand, steaming with a milky brown liquid. “Huh.”

The beverage, whatever it was, warmed Tyft to her core and made light her thoughts. As it seeped past her long tongue she tasted honey, a hint of jasmine and rosemary, and clove amidst a milky background. The Goblin savored the drink, cupping it in both hands as she took long draughts of the steamy liquid.

As his guest took in her drink, the demon summoned a wooden chess table between them. It more resembled a box like shogi board used by the Aziaks of Thylodon and afar. From a pouch he place black and white wooden pieces along the board until both sides matched. By far chess was the more commonly known game as the rules were simple and the pieces themselves easily augmented to fit a costumed society. The demon tapped his corner with his pipe, calling the Goblin into the game.

Tyft smirked, her own thin lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth and long incisors. The message was simple. Play or leave. Between thumb and forefinger she picked up a foot-man before placing it two spaces forward. The game had begun.

The demon put forward his far right pawn one to which Tyft put forward her own to match. His right horseman jumped over and to the left. “You left the Inverted Gem at an early age. It would explain your lack of manners, though how you managed to get this far on your own a miracle in and of itself.”

“My fadder was a warrior and a shaman my muther.” In the response, the Goblin moved her second from the right foot-man forward one to help her priest.

Early memories muddled by time surfaced into her thoughts. Of displeased and sorrowful and angered eyes. They could not keep one such as her in the camp. She was a mutation. A mistake.

The demon put the opposite foot-man two spaces forward. Her priest moved forward to her right, as anticipated. The third foot-man from his left stepped forward one. She moved up and to her left. If he was building his defenses she would seek out weaknesses before he could cover them up.

He gave a smirk as he moved his left horseman forward and to her right. It was a finger in the hole for now, but neither opponents were moving quickly. Time and intoxication were on the demon’s side. Instead Tyft moved her left priest out to play, supporting her two pawns from behind.

Just as it seemed he was setting his defenses, the demon switched strategy. His second from the right pawn came forward two spaces and face to face with her priest backed pawns.

“You lived in the southernmost edge of the tribe, furthest from the chief and lesser than the tribe’s slaves.” His voice was more testament than question. “What few seasons she had with you, you learned all you could. However, not even a priestess could keep the child.”

Tyft seized the chance and took the pawn only to have it taken in turn by the demon’s own. Her third pawn from the left came up one to defend the weakened position.  The chief of the Inverted Gem banished her to the wilds. Excommunication the humans called it. Tyft called it liberation.

Cast out at an early age, Tyft Onrak had learned all of life’s lessons the hard way. Despite her natural affinity for magic, the aberrant Goblin had no teacher save for what she could learn or observe herself. She stole, swindled, bargained, whored, and fought her way over the many nations of Thylodon. But no matter the place or the time, Tyft Onrak the wandering Goblin kept a merry mood. Easygoing and pickpocketing plunder before throwing all at booze and harlots. If the past had taught her a single lesson it was this, never let a good moment spoil. With this in mind she traveled the world as if it were her playground. Her roof was the sky and her floor the ground. She would play for no less than this freedom every waking moment.

The demon did not flinch as his queen foot-man came forward one. Tyft quickly took his priest only to have it killed by the queen. The Goblin moved up her far right foot-man two, baiting the demon into conflict. He took her pawn and she took his with her keep.

Unconcerned, his queen moved sideways forward and to her left. Her right keep took his horseman and his remaining priest took her keep. Tyft decided to teach the demon just how capable she was while drunk. She moved her queen to her far right but he moved the priest back to her left. Tyft moved her king foot-man forward two. Free of constraint, his far left foot-man moved forward one. The Goblin moved her third left foot-man forward one in aggravation. His queen moved back sideways one space while she moved her left horseman over right and up two. His remaining horseman took her king foot-man only to be taken by her right horseman. The demon took her queen with his own. In a panic she moved her king forward one to have her last keep taken.

Tyft moved a horseman amongst the trio that protected his king. He took her remaining priest and she took his with her horseman. The demon was undeterred. He puffed out another cloud of smoke before moving his king one to her right. She backed up and two to her left with her horseman. Again the slow king moved closer to the keep. Her horseman could not so easily get to him this time. Tyft took one of his foot-men with her own out of aggravation.

The demon’s keep took her left horseman and she moved her king back. It was a weak move, only delaying the inevitable. After a few spaces back and down she moved her horseman in hopes of reprieve. His queen desolated it without a concern. Her pawns were stalled or scattered, her king was on the run. All her possible options had been exhausted.

Tyft flicked a slender, callused finger and let her king fall. He smirked at her surrender and with a wave of his pipe.

“A well-met match to be sure, young Goblin.” The Demon took another steamy puff of his pipe. “Your game is appropriately expected and sufficient for your stay. You may rest within the ante-chamber. Furs and spirits will keep you warm.”

She opened her mouth to ask but the cavern around her changed with a snap of his fingers. She was left alone amongst a pile of fluffed cushions and warm furs. Her cloak was back around her shoulders and slightly empty gourd at her side. As for the Demon and the glowing Giant, they were no where to be found. Tyft smiled as she snuggled into the warm accommodations and was soon fast asleep beneath the soft glow of moonstone.

Unbeknownst to the slumbering Goblin, the Demon Lord Lucifer watched her form with keen eyes. Perched on the great knee of Guardian Mazerik, the devil’s legs kicked lightly back and forth as his chin rested on slack wrists. The Goblin was certainly an odd one but a most welcome reprieve in his kingdom. She held no direct malice for him or any within Asphodel, and no allegiance to Demon Lord or Olympian. Tyft Onrak was quite literally a wanderer with only the clothes on her back.

The Devil-Boy twisted and landed effortlessly on Mazerik’s shoulder with the balls of his feet. Still the Holy Guardian sat unmoved and a smirk played along Lucifer’s thin lips. As far as he could tell, Tyft’s aberrant nature was not the cause of any entity other than the whim of the Creator. Perhaps the God afore all gods had deigned this individual Goblin be born such. Or, like so many other things, it was the elusive will of spirit long passed from existence. It was hard to tell the two apart even for a Demon Lord.

But as the others came and went, the true gods never slept. They slumbered without sleep. They woke without dreams or nightmares. It was a toll that Lucifer found taxing and in part he wished to alleviate it. However, burdening the souls of others was not what he wished. The Demon Lord knew if he was to continue sacrifices would have to be made and souls burned upon Hell’s bloody altars, but at least he could spare some.

 _Yes._ Red-yellow eyes glistened in the faint light of his throne room. _Surely some can be saved._

The Demon Lord of Judgement dissipated in a wisp of blue embers and smoke. There was still much work to be done and time, however illusionary in this place, was short.

 

▲

 

Boulder-sized knees slowly came into focus as Tyft slowly blinked the sleep from her eyes. She frowned and squinted, looking up to see the gigantic man watching her intently through the golden plates of his mask. The Goblin blinked and rubbed her eyes a little.

 _Still here. I must have had a really good night or a really bad one._ Tyft wrinkled her (descriptive) nose a little. “Uh, morning.”

The statue nodded slightly, sending a shiver down Tyft’s back. She could almost hear the slight warping of metal with the man’s every movement. Or perhaps it was the crackle of stone. Tyft did could not decide which. But there was something missing from the picture, something incomplete that the Goblin witch could not quite put her finger on.

She opened her mouth to ask when the Giant moved, rising from his knelt position to oddly stand without scraping his helm against the ceiling. Quite the impressive feat given a fellow of his size.

“I do not suppose you would tell me what my debt is?” Tyft smiled sheepishly, her eyes still half-shut.

He opened his mouth and the Goblin’s hair stood on end. Air throbbed in flux between them as Tyft sat bolt upright. When the Giant spoke his voice was thunder of Heaven and rays of warm daylight. It rumbled out of him causing Tyft to believe for a few moments that the earth around them trembled.

“Young Goblin of the Inverted Gem, the master wishes you well and blesses you in your future travels.”

She waited a moment, more out of caution that the gigantic man would strike her than simple courtesy. “Where’s the ‘master’ now?”

“The master has errands he wished to fulfill before the day’s end.” He answered without looking down at her.

“And who are you? Some kind of fetish slave?”

“This one has not been given permission to speak his name and declare his mantle.” He said before growing silent once more.

“Really.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You would be horrible as a bard. Perhaps the worst that there was or is. Very well then, I will find entertainment elsewhere.”

Tyft stood and stretched, making a show of it before moving back toward what she remember the entrance. At least she knew that there was booze to be found somewhere south of this place. There was always booze to be found in the South. As she wandered under the twinkling crystals a thought came back to her and a devious grin curled along her lips to reveal small fangs of a Goblin. Divine beings always had the best booze.

When she left the underground tunnel she quickly scurried to the top of the hill and hid behind the large oak. It was not her best plan but the Goblin thought that the demon would most likely approach from the South like she had. Just to be sure, Tyft the witch pulled out a charm from her belt and held it to her breast. Within the red gem a single crystalized tear rested and still glimmered with power. The noblewoman she had stolen it from had once boasted it came from a Succubus after she saw her children torn apart by a horde of Angels. Tyft snickered at remembering the silly story. Demons rarely wept and when they did it was not for their posterity. If they ran short of troops they would raise the dead where they fell.

Demons were tricky that way. There was little they could not obtain themselves through some means and time was no concern of theirs. Infernal beings were untouched by the churning ages and tides of the eons. Squatting in their kingdoms of Hell each only need wait for the moment to strike. The trick was to catch them at a moment of weakness.

Unfortunately, the Goblin witch was not a patient being. She tired of waiting and hustled back toward the cave entrance. No sooner was she about to jump down to the threshold then a colossal blur of gold whooshed out and took to the sky on wings of light. The Goblin was left wide-eyed and mouth agape staring at the receding beacon, flat on her rump after nearly losing sight of it in the dawning light.

 _An opening._ A fanged grin slit across her temporarily stupefied face. _Most best._

 

 

Wind stirred the ancient treetops as Lucifer stood as he had once before, gazing west toward a coming storm. Perched delicately above the forest floor and Fiyre tree-homes beneath, the Demon Lord of Judgement cast his keen sight toward the kingdom of Darekvale and territory beyond. During the time of Yiren’s death it had been passed from one pair of hands to another and currently belonged to Nordon. The massive scape stretched all the way to the sea and beyond for the Olympian held claim over waters. But this was not what disturbed Lucifer from his cave.

Red-yellow eyes narrowed as he gazed passed the horizon’s sky. Even with barriers and wards in place the flock of Malahk was evident. Circling like scavengers waiting for the kill. Not to mention the ominous signs lingering over the edge of vision and they came closer with each passing day. Lucifer reached out and touched his servant Mazerik. Through the helm the Demon Lord gazed to the East and saw an worrying reflection. From either end of Thylodon they came with great power and would surely meet at Asphodel. It would not be the conspiring of Hell. No, this was the power of Heaven and various gods. And Lucifer was caught in the middle.

The Demon Lord stood. 


	3. Characters

Main:

The devil-boy: main protagonist, bit of an anti-hero type with a maverick streak. Lean, pail, could pass for incubus (he can switch between twink and femboy do to the infernal ability to alter his appearance but only slightly. Other hell spawn can change it completely if they wish; succubi for instance can alter age, height, and any portion of their body. They do have an original form though), forehead horns of black and red like a satyr’s, wings of black with glowing green and blue (feathered but a bony outline like you see on skin wings of bats and dragons), two tails instead of one (like a split tailed cat) that have bony armor on top and dangerous spike at the ends (these bone like growths can be peeled off to have a normal pair of tails but will grow back in time), eyes of yellow-red with cross pupils, ability to use any weapon<Bezerker/Lancelot-fate/stay night> in same color as wings. Lean, pail, could pass for incubus, forehead horns of black and red like a satyr’s, wings of black with glowing green and blue, eyes of yellow-red, ability to use any weapon<bezerker-fate/stay night> in same color as wings).

Has power to ‘mark’ or make a ‘contract seal’ with those who do business with him (basic devil lord power). It can either enhance them or limit them according to the contract. Also since he is not a devil per-se the devil-boy can apply any type of magic/tech he can study. Through his extent of power he forms a harem of sorts. He also gains the name Lucifer amongst the ranks of hell for his appearances and his befuddling (to a hell spawn) ways.

Falls through a dimensional rift caused by a government project and lands in hell (different dimension/universe) where he is slowly transformed into a devil (every weird and awful torture known and not known, including that weird sexual mind breaking shit) with little of his human nature/spirit remaining. Once his demon lord (Balthat) orders his new devil spawn (the devil-boy) into battle the former human lays waste to land, animal, angel, human, and demon alike leaving a scar on the planet. Having slain his ‘master’ he ascends to the position over his territory, however useless it is. Relieved of the direct order and any future orders (his master said to destroy “everything” he could in <three days?>) the devil-boy’s human remnant uncurls from the depths of his soul where it has been hiding and waiting. He turns to mourning his new fate (more than he already has) while the demon lord’s (now his) territory grows back. Centuries pass and he becomes myth: the non-demon, the devil-boy who was ordered by his master to destroy everything he could in three days. However he finds a poor girl on the doorstep of his ‘tomb’ willing to sell her soul to him in exchange for revenge. The devil-boy finds himself thrust into the politics and conflicts of heaven and hell as he must find where he fits in this horrid new world.

It's not necessarily because the D-b is a fem, he’s just the one who fucks

(Medium-light fighter/magic wielder/psion, demon lord, rogue)

Note: A rival demon lord WILL use Lucifer’s father’s soul to identify him (seize his sisters) and try to defeat him. (Mother is in heaven?)

Note: The Devil-boy does not wear traditional armor into battle or for any purpose (breast plates and such are abhorred for some reason although he is not against wearing greaves, shoulder plates, etc.). Instead choosing to craft ethereal protection (AKA “mage armor”) from spells and magic. It has no weight so it does not slow him down in the slightest since it is made of magic (mana/ether/aether) which suits his light-mobile style well. While it does wear on his magic reserves (only a little as his reserves are practically limitless) it is a small price he is willing to pay.

Prized weapons include: (one for each harem member plus the hell blade)

  * Excelsior the bladed lance
  * Impetus the rapier
  * Grogin the half-shaft halberd
  * Giyadi the reaching spearhead
  * Armethea the Blade Shield
  * Sheulón the hell blade. Also known as Aschelhim the mountain sunderer



 

 

The angel male-slave (Ashelot or Mazerik): Former proud warrior of heaven (Holy Guardian) is captured by the devil-boy and used as his fucking machine (he’s one heck of a ride). He has golden-light (literally, but can be tangible like feathers) wings and is built like a tank, all ripped muscle, fitting him entirely in his former occupation. Through some strange mixing and forging of celestial and mortal magic the angel is collared and chained hand and foot, binding him to the devil-boy. He also always wearing a mask or something to cover his eyes (piercing blue) from seeing, the act of which would mean the end of his celestial powers as an angel and reversion to a (Fallen angel? Mortal?) (Testimony of the five senses: sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch). He was once a great being of might and served valiantly among the ranks of heaven but now is bound to a minion of hell (te-he, not really). As a mercy or piece of pity the devil-boy lets the angel keep his powers (keeps him from witnessing through sight what has become of him). The angel’s former comrades grudgingly are thankful for this but despise the devil-boy none the less. The guy has enough stamina to outlast a war, enough ‘holy water’ to ‘purify’ half of hell, and big enough to put a horse to shame. He is the first (and only for a while) of the harem.

(Heavy-medium fighter/magic wielder, tank/paladin, Angel warrior, diviner, healer: magic)

Weapons:

  * (Club-sword grown from a sliver of the first tree)
  * Armethea the Blade Shield (Db)



 

 

Goblin futa (Tyft Onrak): If she was a D&D character her alignment would be Chaotic Neutral. Abnormal since birth and rebellious to boot she ran away/was excommunicated from her tribe VERY EARLY. Adaptable in almost any environment and setting she is quick to get laid, draw blood, or take a nap. Thief, rogue, assassin, drunkard, wench, hooker, slut, mercenary, witch, concubine, are all things she has been since she could form a thought. She has an acute natural affinity for magic but has only been self-taught several things (adept at certain transformation techniques). As a carefree spirit she wanders into the devil-boy’s territory. (Through processes I have not thought up yet) they strike a contract and he holds claim over her, but she is free to wander as she pleases although it is mainly within the devil-boy’s territory she often goes far afield.

She stands about 4-5ft with a slightly turquoise-jade skin, long dark hair often flowing down one side of her face or cut in some other random style (has tendency to dye it various blues, reds, and everything in between). With largely goblin traits her body fits her personality like a glove. A lithe, toned body thoroughly shaped by hard life in the outdoors and on the run. Only four fingers and toes like the rest of her kin, as well as the small fangs she has for teeth and black claw like nails. Her breasts are small compared to others but to her she is around a size B or C, in reference though her pert little breasts are no bigger than peaches. Large, pointy, prehensile bat-like ears poke out the sides of her head and give her excellent hearing (although her selective hearing could use work). With a sloping brow, angular features, slanted emerald green eyes with pocks of red, and a pointy, snub, upturned nose she is easily mistaken for being evil but if you stick around long enough you’ll find her a bit less evil and more of a naughty rebel. In addition to the unnatural cock she was birthed with she also has a stubby, thick spade-tail (frog tail). Often she will use magic to turn her arms into large leathery wings and take on the appearance of a bat-like harpy (it’s one of her favorite tricks). Adding to her interesting personality and body type she also has several piercings on her body, a nose ring (in the middle like a bull, she only wears it on certain occasions), snake bites that she takes out sometimes, nipple piercings, a couple of navel piercings, a clitoris piercing, an anal piercing, several tongue piercings (her tongue is quite long), as well as some penis piercings (what do you call those? Genital piercings?). Being a futa she has no balls, but she still has sperm (ball sacks inside?). The gods blessed the world by not allowing her to ‘seed’ children. The cock is around an inch to an inch and a half thick, six to seven inches when erect, has several ridges along the underside, and is uncut. She is the second in the devil-boy’s harem.

(rogue, minor magic wielder: witch?, enchantress, assassin, thief)

Weapons?

 

 

The Goo (Syli): After some exploration/investigation as to why all their trash, garbage and waste simply disappears they find that a sentient goo/slime mass has taken up shelter in the caverns of devil-boy’s ‘tomb’. It meekly asks if it could stay, in return it will consume all their waste. And they promptly agree. The devil-boy made a contract mark but left the contract open for the goo to edit as it pleases. Upon further investigation the found out that the goo had survived the years of destruction wrought about by the devil-boy by staying in the caves. She was the spore (how to goos produce? And what do they produce?) of another goo that was feasting on the carnage. The little spore fell into a crack and landed amongst some ______ (magical regenerating mushrooms). Feasting on them she was able to take form and have a more extended personality than that of any of her kind. Her goo body was able to take on forms while her predecessors could only be recognized as masses of slime. The mushrooms also gave her the generative ability that she is known for (and maybe some of the benevolent attitude, but we may never know).

The Goo can take any form but still has a slime or goo consistency although she can form a solid like shape independent or connected to her if she wishes. She can also appear as any sex (male, female, futa, herm, cuntboy, shemale/transwoman, something I probably don’t want to know) although it thinks of itself as a female (gender). The Goo’s colors, texture, and shade/value change according to mood and attitude at any given time. “She” consumes her meals in silence and is rarely present unless called upon or is in need of something (curiosity counts as a need to her). Her goo is both generative as well as destructive and she can choose which at any moment. She silently watches over the place from the cracks and crevices and unlit tunnels that are never used, sometimes blending in with the stone itself. The goo can also become florescent on certain occasions. She is the third in the devil-boy’s harem.

(healer/whatever-the-goo-can-do)

Weapons?

 

 

The bratty Dyrrhin (dark elf) princess (tomboy?) and her mother, a Dyrrhin queen (stiff-necked hard-ass you would expect out of dark elf culture): these two are an interesting thing, and they come as a package deal. The dyrrhin princess had enough of her mother’s ‘you have to be a perfect mistress’ this and ‘useless slut’ that so she sought the devil-boy over and under continents, traveling far to find the one devil who would grant her the boon she desired. She swaggered (I don’t know the female version of swaggered. Sauntered?) into the ‘tomb’ and offered her soul and servitude as well as that of her mother if the devil-boy would subjugate (yes in that way) the queen and let the princess dominate (yes in that way too) her. The princess swore they would be his pets forever as long as she got to pound her mother’s ass and treat her like the sow she was. The contract was struck and the princess was allowed to keep her standing, if only in title, and free reign (the devil-boy is pretty lenient with his contracts, part of his nature not being a real demon. Which the other hell spawn find maddening). The catch was that the both of them were his bed warmers (among various other things, interior designers and sorcerers for instance). The princess readily agreed. So the queen was taken and subjected to a more R rated version (instead of XXX version) of sexual mind breaking. The queen (through the devil-boy’s magic or something) keeps her sane memories and her personality as before but is turned into a nice Dyrrhin (insert sexually derogatory term). But to be honest she was one all along, she just never had the inclination to be on the bottom with all the power she had.

The queen (Tyllana Urhrist Rhoanwik) is a capable fighter, politician, Machiavellian, magic wielder, and is a fantastic lay. Does she still run her kingdom as queen? (Her kingdom has long forgotten her but she still believes and acts like a queen?) Or at least one that has been subjugated. She stands tall above others with an athletic build and a very enticing rack (DD). Her long white hair and almost black skin (onyx?) is the mark of a true Dyrrhin as well as her red eyes. She secretly loves playing the submissive role under the devil-boy and the rest of the harem but will never admit to it unless she is ‘convinced’ to. She still rules over her kingdom but often rejoins the harem (the call of the seal is powerfully convincing).

The princess (Daigys Iliana Rhoanwik) is almost a younger version of the queen, though a good deal more unruly (she and the goblin get along really well). Lithe, though not as tall as her mother. She is just as capable, if not more, than the queen in fighting, stealth, potion making, assassinating, fencing (among other combat arts), magic wielding, and is a good a squeeze as her mother. Her breasts however are in the A-B range and her skin is lighter than her mothers. Her eyes are more of a dark purple (sometimes changes to blue and silver) but her hair is more of a silver than a pure white. Usually dressing in scanty “armor” or belly-dancing clothes she revels in her new freedom, and has a soft spot for the devil-boy. But only because how he treats her and calls her princess. She has no care for her mother’s kingdom so she hangs around the harem or sometimes goes venturing with one of them.

These two count as one and by contract bound to each other. They can be separated but the laws of the universe validate that they must eventually come together. They are the fourth (and technically fifth) in the devil-boy’s harem.

Queen: (medium fighter/magic wielder, diplomat, potion maker, fencer)

  * Weapons?



Princess: (light fighter/magic wielder, rogue, thief, potion maker, scout, assassin)

  * Weapons?



 

 

(Xyllis Thull'k’tasca) The Theudra (female mindflayer/illithid): near where the dark elf’s (the princess and queen) hold their kingdom there was a brutal war between another Dyrrhin kingdom and a very powerful Theudra community. Three of the Ollmus (elder brains) had gathered together at one spot as well as their most powerful followers to crush this particular stumbling block. It was an unprecedented event in history, or at least it would have been. The Ollmus located themselves in different pools so as not to interfere with each other too much but had the pools connect through underground passages flooded in their brine bath. It was a real power house with immensely powerful Tallith (ulitharids) popping out of the pool. However one particular Tallith gave seed to the pool that year. The seed grew very slowly and strangely grew sentient, intimately aware of its intended purpose (and the danger it was in). The Ollmus would have found the tadpole like larva (Threi) out but “fate” seemed to intervene. Empowered by a pact made with a demon lord (Lilith?) the Dyrrhins weaved a powerful magic that severed the elder brains from their followers. The elder brains panicked (if you could call it that) as well did their followers. The Dyrrhins swept into the gathering, slaying everything in their path. With their enemy so disorganized the Dyrrhin easily wiped out the community, dropping the corpses of Theudra and drone alike into the brain pools hoping to poison them. As the Dyrrhins left the elder brains could only feast of the brains they could scavenge from the corpses fed to them by their enemy. Eventually they regained the ability to communicate with each other as well as a few of the Atz (voidminds), Azta (brain golems), and Gholin (nyraala golems) that were left. They did not know it but the Dyrrhins had not kept their part of the bargain with the demon, hoping to cheat her out of a deal (what was the deal?). Never the less, the Ollmus found themselves in a wasteland underground with no way to send messengers to another community and the nearest source of food was too fortified (the Dyrrhins were actually gone but they didn’t know that). Starving, the brains started to consume the illithid larvae that still lived in the pool. Our little sentient Threi had become smart enough to hide well in the passage ways between the brains and was unfound. The little larva waited as the Ollmus exhausted their supply of larvae, learning from the psionic communication between the former masters. The Ollmus grew so starved that cannibalism was selfishly contemplated to prolong their own lives. One of the three even tried to move through the submerged passages to attack the others but it faltered and no longer had strength. That is when the little larva struck. It nibbled cautiously, and then started to consume the floundering Ollmus. The larva grew immensely in knowledge and psionic power and energy, being smaller it did not have to worry about consuming constantly. It did just that, however. Born out of an instinct to survive the little larva consumed the greedy Ollmus that had attempted to cannibalize its fellows then it moved on to the others. The other two were on the point of death and tried in vain to push the little larva away. By the time the larva had finished off the second and started on the third the remaining brain was dead. Finally having consumed all three of the Ollmus the little Thrie found it was alone with enough power and knowledge to challenge part of Hell but having consumed the knowledge of the elder brains it found a certain elements lacking in its own race’s belief and communal system. It found the logic by which its own kind lived and breathed and died faulty. Seeking to find a better way it pushed its will on the servants still alive. The larva had them create a special cauldron like pot to keep brine in. Riding in the pot and seeing through the servants eyes the little larva hesitantly passed from its former home into the world. It passed through the ruined kingdom of the Ollmus’s Dyrrhin enemies, through great caverns and tight crawlspaces, over seemingly endless abysses that more than likely ended in a portal to Hell. It grew in thought and conscience. Finding itself with so much knowledge and power that it wanted, no NEEDED an identity. Something to claim for itself. The larva quietly, almost timidly, claimed a gender. Thus (Xyllis Thull'k’tasca) was born. She wandered the underground for years, never revealing herself or her cohort, pondering life and existence. However she knew that her time was limited. Unless she took humanoid form, something she greatly desired, she would transform into a worm like Jhungliph (neothelid). She searched and searched for a way among the shadows of the underground. Sometimes sending her faithful servants above to seek knowledge of how this may be done. Few returned and although her kind thought of them no more than chattel she mourned their death, for no one had acknowledged them in life. Knowing she could not turn to any person or entity to safely or harmlessly grant her what she wished she nearly gave up. With time drawing close she wandered into a set of caverns and caves with dead hope that she would find some meaningless scrap that would give her short existence meaning. As the last of her servant’s life began to fail she waited in her cauldron prison, alone and sealed away from the world. It was then that something came along, a bubbly interesting sort of glow that the larva could make out with her psionic abilities. She felt her pot picked up gently and carried rather smoothly to a destination unknown. It arrived in a little alcove the devil-boy’s goo had melted out for herself and upon opening the pot the larva shied away from the goo, thinking it would be devoured. Instead the goo brought her out as carefully as one would treat a newborn babe. She cuddled the larva into herself and the larva found that the goo’s body restored her in a way she had not known. She felt a little more complete and that eventually she could find a way to have a body to call her own. The goo and her conversed for hours, not an easy thing but they managed. The larva begged the goo to help her and the goo, being a kind being at heart (metaphorically), agreed. The goo whispered over the goblin when none of the others were looking and told her of the predicament. At first the goblin was befuddled (she was never one for serious thought) but she concurred with the goo (being hesitant at first when the goo mentioned and showed her the mind flayer larva). The goblin waited for a prime moment to ask a boon of the devil-boy. However, having sensed and judged the larva’s presence from a distance and knowing that the goo was a timid yet determined the devil-boy waited for the goblin to speak. She asked him during one of their more amorous meetings. He said yes on the spot. Together with the other members of the harem, including the dark elfs (reluctant at first but then interested to see an Theudra who was not an Theudra), and with the generative powers of the goo as well as magic the Theudra larva grew a body just as she imagined, all that she could wish for. Now a fully functioning person she offered her life in servitude to the devil-boy for his gift. He refused but at the great insistence of the Theudra he accepted. She became his wealth of knowledge, not just for simple things but for the world and universe he was in. Not only did she have the immense psionic and mental power and prowess of three elder brains but she had their knowledge as well. She quickly became the harem’s bookworm and records keeper, getting along very well with each of them.

The Theudra is female in body and in mind; she has all the trademarks of her race but she is the only one of her kind. Her skin is a smooth light purple with no hair what so ever. Her hands are thin and a little bony, with retractable dark, claw-like nails. She has four face tentacles (instead of the usual eight or ten) but they are larger and longer than the average Theudra, they can stretch all the way down below her knees and to her ankles. Her body is lithe and extremely fit with muscles showing tightly beneath her silken skin. However there is a certain fatty consistency around her bust area (B or C) as well as her legs and hips, giving the impression of a perfect balance between slender and voluptuous. The skin lacks the slimy texture often found in other Theudra and feels as snakeskin. But she can secrete a form of mucus similar to that of the Theudra if she wishes. Her mouth (is like a human one?) but is extremely prehensile in nature, she also has a tentacle like tongue that is very interesting to use. Where a usual Theudra digestive tract can only absorb brain matter hers can nearly digest anything, but brains are a need (not as often as regular Theudra since she can find other means for nutrients). Her genitals are also different from a regular Theudra. She has a womb and vagina, which is just as prehensile as her mouth (the passage to her womb is likewise filled with surprises), as well as bladder and ulna (?). Her clitoris is actually a sensitive tentacle that is partially tucked away insider her toned belly. It can come out and move at will, and is just as prehensile as her other tentacles. Her eyes are her most distinct characteristic, deep-set but can be large depending on how she shifts her face. They are a deep dark blue with crescents of green showing.

Her dress code is on the skimpy side, wearing dark leather like trappings of her Theudra ancestry with her own personal twists. A kind of lace up tube top with a spiked up collar and a thin cord belt that holds a few rather revealing straps of leather over her legs and nether regions seems to be her preferred outfit. She enjoys her bodily freedom to the fullest and has several piercings, one in the navel that she attaches all sorts of fun things to, one on a nipple (only one?), several rings on her right eyebrow, a clitoris piercing that’s very fun to use, and one at her anus (because she can). She also wears an assortment of bracelets, anklets, necklaces, chokers, armbands, and tentacle rings.

She is reclusive and likes to be left to reading and studying in a separate set of caverns in the ‘tomb’. She also spends a great deal of time in their collected library, a bookworm eager for more knowledge.

I don't know if I've already put this up before but the Theudra/illithid character, having eaten three elder minds who in turn have eaten thousands of others, has a multitude of ticks and odd habits of former hosts who were taken over. These can be large or small, and not always evident. The main ones I can think of offhand would be to twist a ring on her finger (with thumb or other hand), "feel" or drag fingers along any particular surface as walking by, saying numbers in reverse much like I do (50 to 40 percent chance, 30 to 25 minutes, 14 to 6 degrees difference, etc.), spinning or fiddling charcoal writing sticks in her fingers, 

As stated she is a one of the most powerful psionic/psychics in the universe (equal to the demon lords in power and the gods in control/precision) and is extremely good at using said power. She is not bothered by being attracted or having relations with either sex (or any sex for that matter) although she is very adept at bringing females to climax (understandably). She doesn’t mind trying new things as well as old, savoring each like one would enjoy a vast selection of food. She also doesn’t mind what role she plays but if given the option she will show an interesting dominate streak and may take things rough or teasing (bordering on throbbing), working like a dominatrix yet lacking in want to control her partner or partners. She more enjoys the sight of them squirming. She is the fifth member of the devil-boy’s harem.

(Psion, light rouge/fighter type)

Weapons?

 

The succubus (<Ashlesa Vuka: personal name> Dinylus<house name> Oxpheratus<scholarly title> Sköll<house name>): from an ancient and influential bloodline the succubus ruled by one of the demon lords (Diluvius the Warlord) sides as an influential concubine for many ages. They both held proud seats on the infernal council and the succubus queen herself led demonic troops victoriously to battle against Hells enemies. However, her lord was killed during a crucial part of a war. She tried to rally the demon lord’s troops but to no avail, they kept loosing against the enemy. Again and again she tried to push back the enemy but still lost ground until almost all of her former lord’s territory on the material plane was gone. The plotter (Adlaytho) who arraigned the death of the other demon lord denounced the succubus as a traitor and unfit of her former titles. The demon lords (as well as Diluvius’s successor) agreed and the succubus was stripped of her powers, forced into a lower caste of a succubus whore/concubine to the accusing demon lord. She hates him and is suspicious of the possibility of his involvement with the death of her former lover but she cannot do anything about it. Being forced into the lower caste she is little more than your average (Belial) with more knowledge (but no ability) in magic and the ways of hell. She also kept her succubus trait of seduction but is bound by a contract like seal to the scheming demon lord she now works under. Due to the devil-boy’s sudden uptake in power the succubus is sent to him as a sort of liaison/manager/fucktoy/spy. She has come to think of every infernal being as backstabbing and not worthy of personal trust, let alone their minions. As such she dislikes the devil-boy but plays a willing liaison. She plots her own path in the times where she can be truly alone, scheming her rise back to power and her revenge on those who killed her former lover.

Each succubus has an original form that they were born (are demons born? Yes, some are) with but because of her stripped power the succubus’s form changed (is it a natural phenomenon?) by itself to accommodate her new position in life. She was once tall, proud, with scarlet skin, a well-toned body. Her thin fingers as well as her toes curving with sharp, black claws. Her horns towered up in elegant spirals. Her majestic wings clawed with bone and on the inside were every swirling patterns showing the stars as they burned in the night sky. Her tail was a long barbed spear. Her garments where scanty but befitting of a succubus queen, the small bones of her enemies formed a long loincloth and a thick necklace that x’d behind her back and came up to cover her luscious breasts. Now, however, she is looks little more than a street prostitute. Her hair is rumpled and kept back with a few bird feathers and a comb. Her horns no longer look elegant but are protruding, ugly things that sprout from her forehead like antlers and curve forward. Her skin has lost most of its former scarlet, being a burnt red along the outreaches of her body while her torso, some of her arms and legs are a shaded sand color. Her tail is mostly the same, long and flexible but a shadow of its former self. She now wears a plain cloth tube top only adorned with a few scorched feathers and a loincloth that barely comes down mid-thigh. She wears a necklace wound around her ankle as a precious reminder of her former status, and her undertaking to get it back. Flamed, glowing runes dot her body designating her position, purpose, crime, punishment, and master.

While formerly being able of crafting magic rivaling that of the demon lords choice fighters she is now barely able to formulate complex enchantments let alone powerful ones. Her fall back is the reliable and potent power of seduction succubi are renowned for. She wields it hand in hand cunningly with a few magic spells and enchantments to successful effects. She has the basic ability to form contracts same as every infernal being as well as the succubi’s natural ability to shapeshift into any form/appearance/age as long as she remains in her own gender (she could magically make a cock for herself if she saves up enough mana). She is the sixth member of the devil-boy’s harem.

(magic wielder/fighter: so battle mage sort of, rogue, succubus)

Weapons:

  * Double swords (one that becomes two?)



 

 

The Shinobi (ninja): a die-hard ninja (Imari Tomuchi? Sheshka?) was loyal to her clan and its ways to a fault. But she failed to complete a crucial mission do to personal reasons (and outside manipulation, possibly a childhood love?) and half the clan was destroyed. For her error she was cursed. She would find a master of evil that she would perceive as dealing justice and goodness. She would be that master’s hand of death but at she would be the butcher of the innocents. The shinobi originally works for a half-god that rules tyrannically over a land bordering that of the devil-boys. When the Goblin is caught for a crime she didn’t commit (strange, I know) the devil-boy responds in kind when the goblin is sentenced to death. He and a few of his team/harem travel from the ‘tomb’ and kill the half-god. With the land without a leader, the assassins as well as the goblin prisoner gone, and each of the half-god’s cronies competing for power the ninja is punished for failing her ‘master’ and banished. The shinobi wanders into the devil-boy’s land and her curse leads her into his ‘tomb’. She asks that the devil-boy be her new master. Intrigued and with a slight touch of pity he agrees. A contract is struck and she becomes his shinobi. The devil-boy hates seeing her being nothing more than a toy for him to use however he wishes. With help from the rest of the harem he is able to nullify part of the curse. The shinobi no longer has to shed blood, but she still has to serve a master of evil (he-he-he, you got psyched little curse). The devil-boy mainly sends her on scouting missions around the country, sometimes looking out for the goblin, and other times keeping an eye on his enemies, celestial or infernal. She is the only one of the harem he has yet to bed (he will eventually), and he likens her predicament to his own (back when he was sucked into hell). In his pity he requires nothing of her and he only asks her to do things, he never demands them. He respects her and none of the others question his decision, although they treat her as family. (In all sincerity the shinobi is the only one of the harem he truly loves)

She is a small, lithe (extremely fit) human of oriental descent (or what would be Asia in this world) with several calligraphic tattoos signifying her clan and duty. She has the dark eyes of her ancestors that are sharp as a falcons, ears as keen as a foxes, a nose better than a bloodhounds, a knack for imitating almost any sound or voice and all her other abilities as a ninja. She was trained in several martial arts, weapons, stealth, etc. as well as limited but effective knowledge in magic (dark?). She wears her long dark hair back or in a bun most times and can be found in either a shinobi outfit or other wear of her ethnic background. At first she is adamant about keeping her face hid but friendliness wins over. She is quite a beauty, petite and humble but fierce and quick. She is nowhere near the Dyrrhin’s bust size but her “A”s fit her better than anything else. She is the seventh member of the devil-boy’s harem.

(ninja, light magic wielder/enchanter)

 

 

The femboy shifter: a young (18?) femboy with the ability to shapeshift to different anthropomorphic forms from a different dimension (fey series? Werewolf story?) is pulled through (or is he pushed?) into the hellish dimension. He lands in the realm of a kooky and perverse demon lord (Krythlit, male) of lesser might than the others. The femboy is subjected to a slightly lesser form of conquest (I don’t need to explain, do I?) than the devil-boy but he’s already a little bit cracked himself. His mind breaks under the pressure and he becomes little more than a psychotic, cute, male, cum-dump that would go AWOL if his master didn’t keep him on a leash. Due to a feud between the demon lords, his master is killed. Unfortunately they didn’t keep good count of his subjects or belongings. The femboy crossed mountains, plains, and hills out of his mind for things to have sex with. He seduced maids, mated with wild animals and livestock, and reversed raped men as he traveled along. The “training” the demon lord gave him would not allow his broken mind to go a day without having sex with something or someone. The goblin was the first to encounter him, noticing him having sex with (fill in the blank) along one of the many roads. The little rascal (femboy) snuck into one of the cavern entrances of the ‘tomb’ (I need to find a better name). Seeking out the most virile and dominate partner he attempted to ambush the devil-boy, who was already aware of his presence, and you know the rest of the agenda. It didn’t work out well for him. A trap snapped around him like a cage and he was subdued. The devil-boy had the illithid examine him and see if she could piece some of his psyche back together. With a little help and one or two magical locks to keep everything in place the femboy shifter regained some composure (only some. . . . Less than a quarter). Seeing the devil-boy as the still prime candidate for  him to serve he begged and pleaded to stay with them. So a contract was struck and the femboy became part of the harem, partially on the condition that if he could catch the devil-boy off guard when he wasn’t doing something important then the femboy and the devil-boy would be “mates” for the night. The devil-boy also put precautionary bindings in the contract so that the femboy would not assault the devil-boy’s people or any other stupid stuff (fill in the blank later).

Since the femboy can alter almost any part of his body within limits of size and gender it’s almost impossible to determine his natural look (original form). However, he cannot alter his body to grow more than 5’7 or shrink to less than 4’7 (why those numbers you ask? Well fuck you that’s why). His weight is never more than 180 pounds and never less than 65 pounds. He can take on any attribute of any anthropomorphic being (or apply it too himself by thought and imagination). In such way he can have scales or fur or horn(s) or tail(s) or fang(s) or claws or paws or a forked tongue. If it can be imagined or is naturally grown on anything else and he knows about it he can reproduce it on himself (he can attempt to do it without visually acquiring the aspect but it might turn out different. If he actually sees it then he can nail it on the head every time, a second nature to him). He always has a girly look and remains in the male gender no matter what form he takes and tends to think of himself in the female gender rather than the male. He has several ear piercings, a navel piercing, a lip piercing, nipple piercings (only two but he can grow multiple nipples, so that’s a thing. Don’t ask questions), and a few eyebrow piercings. Most of his clothing attire and jewelry is reminiscent of either a Turkish harem slave or a girly punk rocker, such as toe rings, bracelets, arm bands, anklets, chokers, belly chains (I have no idea what those are called), etc.

Along with the physical attributes of the aspects of others that he copies he takes on some of their natures as well. He is a melting pot of things and although he is ill experienced in using them in an innate manner they are natural to him. For instance he can see in the dark, smell scents that some cannot, stalk almost silently like a cat, communicate with various animals and mimic their sounds. He also had the unique ability to give birth to whatever he is “bedding” at the time (a choice to bear offspring rather than the factor of getting pregnant every time). The offspring are never more than animals (sex with thing/person with cat attributes makes cats, sex with bat attributes makes bats, sex with demonic attributes makes bat/imp/demon thingys, sex with celestial attributes makes bird/divine being attributes, sex with a normal person such as an elf or gnome or human produces no offspring since they do not have any characteristics other than those they share with each other) that are completely devoted to the femboy and are linked to him. They make excellent scouts and spies. He is the eighth of the devil-boy’s harem.

(Rogue? I think this guy defies simple classification. Shifter)

 

 

 Fox-fire (literal on tail, maybe not ears) (sorceress? Half fox spirit half human?): born to a human mother and a fox-spirit (I’m going to be mean and say maybe a futa). The sorceress (name?) is one of the most adept at using magic but was confined to a solitary existence because her mother had her out of wedlock. The wee sprite grew up sassy and stubborn to boot. Any kids that would make fun of her or her mother, she would beat on them herself. A witch/hag (Should I make it a mortal or not?) tricked the little girl by promising magical power in exchange for one of her mother’s prized possessions: the fox’s pearl (given as a gift to the mother to protect her and her daughter). The sorceress agreed quickly and swiped the pearl while her mother wasn’t looking. But realizing quickly the fault of her daughter the mother ran after her. The witch held the pearl and twisted it to try and enslave the people of the nearby town. The mother streaked in like a banshee slamming into the witch and disrupting the spell. The both of them tumbled into some rather toxic and flammable chemicals, not to mention the pearl backfired because of improper use and care, setting the whole place on fire. The mother, infected and dying, pined the witch with a fireplace poker through the stomach and stumbled out of the flame sealed hovel. She didn’t get very far before her wounds caught up to her. The sorceress watched, felt, her mother die cuddling her and whispering that she was so happy to have her daughter alive and safe. Town’s people flocked in, wondering what had transpired. They found the orphan girl weeping over her mother’s dead and corrupted corpse. To make matters worse the body, because of the toxins and stuff, started to come back to life. The towns folk quickly dismembered the body and burned it while trying to shield and comfort the wailing and pleading daughter. Over the next few years the sorceress grew, bitter but accepting of the town’s peoples consideration. She came to acknowledge that there was nothing she could have done. With that in mind she set out to make her mother proud. At a relatively early age (10 or 11) she sought all the learnings of magic she could gather in the town, memorizing them and practicing them day and night. When she was done with those she locked up her mother’s cabin, bid a dispassionate farewell to the town, and hit the road. She traveled near and far, above and below, to monasteries and cities, to shrines and mountain tops all to gain more knowledge and practice of magic. At 14 she joined the magical academy of her kingdom (--- academy). She graduated a 10 year curriculum in 2 years. She then moved from one academy to the next over several countries (above and below ground) but began to develop a bad habit of getting kicked out just as she was done with all her studies. Her fiery attitude got her in trouble the majority of the time, other times it was her tomboy personality or her disregard for rules that had little meaning/purpose. Not until she had reached 21 did she feel that the public knowledge had been exhausted. She turned to the hermits and recluses to find out what they had hidden. That is when she came upon the legend of the devil-boy, a demon lord of immense power who bartered for souls and horded knowledge. Stealthily as she could she crossed kingdoms to seek, and possibly harness the power of this vile demon. In all things considered she did pretty well. She examined the territory and area supposedly owned by the devil-boy. She quietly probed the landscape looking for omens and signs. She carefully wove certain enchantments around herself to appear as a normal thing amongst all else. She hypnotized one of the locals (flirting with him first) into being her eyes in the area (reporting back to her and then she would give him delusions of him sleeping with her). Finally she carefully made her way into the sanctum. The only mistake she made was that she neglected to remember that demon lords “owned” their domain quite literally and most (if not all) that goes on inside they are aware of. And the illithid who is a powerful psionic. And the succubus that can sense all the patterns attaining to love and sex. And the ninja (because ninja). She mistakenly popped in at the most ill opportune time with layers upon layers of traps waiting for her. As soon as she would disable or get out of one she would set off another. Her bodily strength finally gave out as she wound up in a side pocket of the “tomb”. When she seemed to have calmed down the group approached her with varied degrees of both amusement and curiosity. The sorceress, being too stubborn to admit defeat, cursed and spat at them to show the defiance she had for death. They left her to “cool down” for the night and the goo came back in the morning with food (she is the most simple minded and kindest of the harem). Shocked by the awkward and backward treatment she was given she questions her mission to use the devil-boy as a means to an end. A meal leads to a warm spring bath, which leads to a nice lunch, which leads to a stroll through the harem’s library (technically it belongs to the devil-boy and is supervised by the illithid), which leads to long talks about various magics, which leads to back story, which leads to a feast of a dinner, which leads to a drinking competition with the goblin. By the end of it the sorceress feels right at home, a real home. The feeling she had not felt since before her mother died. She also develops a crush (which turns into full blown true love) on the succubus (who is slightly unaware at first). The sorceress begs the devil-boy to stay. Again, seeing the disposition of things, he reluctantly agrees and leaves the contract loosely open. But the seal is placed and the sorceress is marked.

She is a tomboy by nature, with a dull copper red hair that she usually keeps a little below shoulder length. Her eyes are an earnest but hard blue that sometimes transitions to grey. Her lithe body is mainly formed from long travel and some self-practiced skills to stay fit (you never know who might want to jump you). Her skin is slightly fair with tinges of freckles around her shoulders and face (but only a little). As part of her half-fox spirit nature when she gets intense or angry or something a small foxfire like tale appears behind her butt, right about where a real one would be. The tail is not attached to her body but swishes, burns, changes color, and several other things according to her mood. She also can grow a pair of fox ears that match her hair. She has never really had any piercings other than several in her ears that she keeps magical doodads in as well as a navel piercing that is likewise for multipurpose. She wears rough skirts (usually hiked up/cut off/side cut in certain places), fishnet leggings, thigh highs, fingerless gloves (some that come to the wrist and some to the elbow), vests, various belts along the waist legs, garter belts, small hooded capes, and either riding boots or sandals. She also wears several string necklaces with doodads.

The sorceress is a prodigy in magic and as such is very adept at utilizing various spells, enchantments, etc. of different natures (and practices) both independently and simultaneously, sometimes even cohesively. But as much as she is a powerful magic wielder her hand to hand combat is still lacking a lot. Her body has grown used to long travel and so has become used to strain and injuries but the sorceress has very little knowledge, experience, or understanding of combat without the use of magic. As such she is sort of a glass cannon but the rest of the harem has plenty of fighting types to back her up. She is the ninth (and final) member of the devil-boy’s harem. (Ending note: the succubus had no intention of having any other companions since her last husband/king that got killed. However, the little sorceress seems to light a fire in her heart that she nearly forgot was there. The two become lovers then mates <for life>.)

(Magic wielder: conjuration, divination, thalmology, druid nature magic, etc.)

 

 

 

 

 

NPCs (random other characters)-

 

            Barbarian Immortal: A war weary woman whom has wandered Thylodon for centuries. She became immortal of her own doing (but not of her will?) rather than divine or demonic influence. The barbarian seems to share a keen knowledge of the devil-boy’s feelings and troubles. She is one of the few people who will give him advice if she thinks he needs it, even if he didn’t ask for it.

She mainly watches over things and wanders, although she tends to do it with Luna.

 

            Moon Maiden/Amazon (luna/luna from queen’s blade rebellion): Luna Luna (Moon Shadow Dancer Luna Luna) Luna Luna is a member from the Calibara tribe located in the southern jungles. The Calibara tribe were once rivals of the Wild Elves, but now they're mostly extinguished. She is the strongest warrior of her tribe, and is the guardian of its historic ruins where the "Great Power" is held. It is later revealed that this "Great Power" is the "Sacred Treasure Fortress Bligh", a massive mobile fortress that Yuit's mother Cyan once sought. She sometimes greets her invaders with either a fascinating dance or a death dance. Luna Luna has the bravery of a warrior and the character of an innocent maiden, and her fighting dance is a mixture of both. She fights using four tentacles that extend from her hair, and her skin color changes with her personality and fighting style. When she is in her innocent, fair-skinned form, she is known as the "Sun Dancer". Out of mockery at how Yuit addresses Annelotte, she calls the latter "brother" (Onii-san?).

Luna Luna has a colorful bluish-white wing on the right of her head, and a purple horn on the left. She wears a very revealing outfit, consisting of white cloths with blue ends attached to her upper arms, and ornate strings that go down her torso and attach to a purple horn-like piece, with white pearls going underneath her. On her legs she has detailed thighbands and fishnets leading down to her detailed sandals. One of her most notable features is her four multi-colored tentacles. She can also alter the pigmentation of her skin.   Using ring blades and four tentacles that extend from her hair, she fights while dancing magnificently and looks like a war-goddess with six arms. She also confuses her enemies by altering the color of her skin, which changes how she fights, keeping her opponents guessing. She mainly focuses on the offensive during combat, as her abilities allow her to cover melee to mid-range, since her minimal clothing affords little protection. Her tentacles can change into a wide variety of accessories to aid her, such as binoculars. She also possesses a great deal of knowledge of the tribal magic taught by her people. The "Moonlight Dancer" can harness the power of the moons, through dances, to rejuvenate barren land. This technique takes a toll on her however, and causes her to go unconscious afterwards, although using the ability of her "Sunshine Dancer" side, she has the ability to revive herself when sunlight shines down upon her. She is also highly knowledgeable in Herbalism, being able to recognize rare flora and using it to heal others. (Is the vessel of a disgraced god who is chained in the Inferno. The goddess hopes that her mantle and spirit <not individual soul though> will be passed onto her and Luna will ascend to godhood)>(Goddess of a thousand arms, who drinks the blood of the maidens and wears the heads of men around her neck. She was too hungry for praise. She so wanted sacrifice of her subjects. She fell to far, the duplicitous goddess of moon and sun.)

 

Tyvernus: The keeper of Lucifer’s kingdom in hell. He never left when the old master died, unlike the others, and kept on. Waiting for the souls to come. He is a demonic gargoyle like creature with the body of a man, the feet of a bird, and wings for arms. His skin is as broken ground and hardened lava. Tyvernus is devoid of practically anything except duty, which is what kept him constantly watching and waiting for the new masters claimed souls to come.

 

Thunder Sprite: an electric twink looking fey that tends to “bolt” into town every now and then. He’s one of the goblin’s close “friends” (with benefits).

 

Immoradlus: A true immortal. Perhaps the only true immortal. Wielding enough power to swallow the universe and make another one just like it (all dimensions and parallels). He is often seen in the form of a skinny (lithe), pail young man with deep-set dark eyes and dark hair. He often wears no shirt or coat but always a pair of baggy pants (usually torn and/or stained). In this form his body is often scared and dirtied as if stained by dirt and coal. On his right hand he bears a mark of an empty sun.

            He wields a disproportionate hammer/mallet/bludgeon whose true weight is unknown. Many have attempted to lift it, many have failed. Although a few have been able too, perhaps out of permission. The seven foot long weapon has the haft of worn and cracking wood that pierces though a head of stone. The head is held tight by several bands to the haft and is resembles the stone head tomahawks of the Native Americans than a hammer or club. The weapon is another entity in itself, obedient of Immoradlus whims.

            Both weapon and owner are things of unimaginative power (spiritual/magical/physical/etc.)

 

The Half-Twins: a pair of magic wielding, femboy/twink twins who are adept sorcerers, separated at birth. They do not often cross each other’s path and for most of the stories do not know that they are related. One wields dark magic while the other wields light. They are alike but they are not.

            Aeschylus (?) is the ‘white’ twin who grew up in the pleasant forest wood. He has glowing green eyes and flaxy red hair that is often formed into a braid.

            Alchyrlis (?) is the ‘black’ twin (grew up underground or in dark wood?). (dark elf?)

 

The Councilor: An angel who decided after the last Divine War that she’d had enough and ‘retired’ in of the divinely claimed territories around the Devil-boys. The full-packaged futa has spent her days leisurely. Reading books, researching potions and spells, taking the occasional visitor, going out in disguise amongst the local folk, and enjoying the ‘company’ of the occasional lover.

 

Un-god (Anti-Deus, Non-Divine, etc.): The Tynshagi once had a brother (darkness aspect) who sought the meaning of this and went to the planet, when he returned he was almost unstoppable and threatened to rip the fabric of the universe(s). He had been consumed by the paradox of the planet and become one with it (the Creator’s pier and opposition). They locked him outside all relevancy as to keep him from erasing all realities and time, until the day a boy and a young man were pulled through the main character’s reality and into the dragon’s universe. (Both boy and man are absorbed into one <a boy body with a man mind> and made the avatar of the anti-god dragon <AKA the un- as in the undoing of everything etc.>). The Tynshagi lock the thing away but are unable to destroy it just like before. So they seal it inside the boy-man-dragon-avatar (he is bound to the planet and the dragon and gains powers of such). He is bound with keeping the paradox-dragon inside him and is offered a seat over the Tynshagi dragons (who watch over the eternity of the universes <Think Eastern religion>) but he is more of a wanderer than a watcher.

 

Scholi: Some think of him as a myth, a fabrication of rumor and fanciful thinking. After the Creator voluntarily ended his own existence he left Scholi to keep record of all things for all eternities and beyond. He is often depicted as a young, ordinary man amongst scrolls and books which write themselves. Scholi sits outside of time, space, even eternity. Power and creation are beholden unto him as he wields a mantle like that of the Creator himself and that of the Un-god. Occasionally he walks among mortals and immortals alike disguised as nothing but himself, no one is the wiser. For some odd reason he bears a striking resemblance to Immoradlus.


	4. of gods and demons

 

Demon Lords:

 

(1) Ababzel- The Contractor (as in deal-maker) of 4 wings. One of the fallen Demon Lords cast to the Abyss.

 

 **X** (2) Adlaytho- The Manipulator. Demon Lord of Deception and Lies. One of the few Demon Lords who has never had to take form in another vessel. He is always playing the long game and is not afraid to use other Demon Lords as shields. Plays the Dulcimer

 

(19?) Atlam- An attempt to create a psudo Demon Lord that ended in failure. The demon in question became grotesque and little more than a beast.

 

 **X** (3) Apep- The Devour. Demon Lord of Voracity. Considered Gaap’s brother in the respect that they have similar spheres. Both will slowly consume the landscapes of their Tylon territories before trying to move on. Apep has an insatiable appetite that is born for his hatred of the Olympians and their creations. He plays a drum (djimbe?)

 

(20?) Azlatt- Yet another attempt to create a psudo Demon Lord, this time using corrupted mortals. Yet again this ended in failure and Azlatt rebelled against his masters. The would-be demon was obliterated.

 

(4) Balthat- The Scholar/Transmuter/alchemist. Has been one of the lesser influential players in Tylon but has kept his territory none the less. His line ceases in the story. Plays Violin/fiddle.

 

 **X** (5) Barbas- The Lesser Evil. Demon Lord of Principle. A person of etiquette and propriety, as odd as that may seem. He is an excellent general and something of a scholar (no where near Balthat’s level though). Barbas usually makes deals with politicians and bureaucrats. Plays the Lyre.

 

(6) Behi- The Mighty Nothing. One of the fallen Demon Lords cast to the Abyss. Sealed during the reign of Lillith Praxus.

 

 **X** (7) Corson- The Vane. Demon Lord of Conceit. A selfish an pompous Demon Lord who always picks either a Succubus or an Incubus for his next vessel. Though haughty in his image, Corson is no less effective of a Demon Lord. His influence over the minds of mortals is strong. He plays the Cello.

 

(8) Demiu- The false god. One of the fallen Demon Lords cast to the Abyss. Sealed during the reign of Diluvius Blood-Eyes.

 

 **X** (9) Diluvius- The Warlord. Demon Lord of War. There have been several Diluvius since the Banishment of the gods, four to be exact from the banishment to present on Tylon. Plays the Shofar (horn).

 

 **X** (10) Gaap (or Taob)- The Necromancer/Destroyer. Demon Lord of Ruin. Wears a great many number of faces. He may alter this appearance, as any Demon Lord may do, at will. Though his true form is that of a shadowy wisp. A phantasm swirling on unseen winds. Whenever a lesser god dies he will wear their form for a time, though none know why. Plays serpent horn.

 

 **X** (11) Hyrigion- The Disillusion. Demon Lord of Double-Mindedness. The player of both sides. The traitor in the midst of chaos. Hyrigion plays all mortals against one another. Not as a betrayer but to work the opposing sides to his pleasure. He plays the Dulcimer.

 

 **X** (12) Krythlit- The Pervert. Demon Lord of Madness and Lunicy. Has never been supplanted by another and in recent reigns of Demon Lords has fallen from his former glory. He still maintains a corner of Hell and a pocket of space on Tylon. Plays the accordion.

 

 **X** (13) Lillith- The Seductress. One of the few to draw power and heritage directly from one of the old gods (Lylith). There have been several Lilliths since the Banishment of the Old gods, approximately five including the present one. Plays the Shamishen or Erhu.

Lylith- The first Lillith and the mother of all future Demon Lords bearing her mantle. Considered by her ‘daughters’ (literally?) to be, well, a god. She was, and still is, debatably the most beautiful being in eternity.

 

 **X** (14) Llyamse- The Harlequin. Demon Lord of Jealousy. Capriciously, this Demon Lord is always changing gender or shape. Is fond of pranks and stirring up enmity between lovers. Formulating lover’s triangles is the past time of Llyamse. The current holder of the Demon Lord mantle of Llyamse is ninth in the line. Plays the-.

 

(15) Lucifer- The Devil-boy, the non-demon. The wild card. The Bringer/Wielder of Light (celestial magic). He is the first of his kind, and the last. Plays the violin/fiddle like his former master. Demon Lord of betrayal, misguidance, consequence, and judgement.

 

(16) Mulock- The Fallen One or The Fiery Throne. One of the fallen Demon Lords cast to the Abyss.

 

 **X** (17) Nithlyax- The Deceiver. Demon Lord of Mischief. The thief in the night. The shadow who lurks along darkened hallways. Nithlyax is a hands-on person and patron of thieves. He lusts for one thing after another, never satisfied, and only sated by the thrill of the act. Nithlyax is a dangerous being in the fact that he is always ready with either an escape route or a backstabbing plan. He plays the Lute.

 

 **X** (18) Ziminair- The Lounger. Demon Lord of Idleness. A seemingly slothful being who has turned kingdoms to ruin by simply infecting them with apathy. Plays the Saxophone.

 

 

 

 

Olympians:

 

The Steriotypes: The leader/father, the mother, the warrior, the daughter/inheritor, the trickster, the death-bringer, the lover, the magic wielder/mystery, water/sea deity, ground/nature deity, sky/rain deity, the hunter/mark of seasons, the forger/creator of tools,

 

Anubis and Wife Helupit (Hel of Norse+ Anupi/Input)- Male and female. Olympian lords over the dead. They are considered the foremost judges in existence. They guide the dead after judgement to Hell or to Heaven.

 

Rhah- One of the first Olympians. Rhah led the Olympians once upon a time. He is thought to have died sometime after the Twelfth Divine war but since the True demons are bound to Tylon and Hell one cannot say for certain. He was seen as the benevolent father trying to replicate the wise decisions of his own father (creator).

 

Abrus or Horllor- Male. The originator of the Apollo, Baldur, and Horus legends. A pretty nice guy.

 

Artemis or Shaneth (artemis, skadi, and nieth)- Female

 

Ayphodydit (Aphrodite, Freya, Isis, Maat)- Female

 

Athrie (Athena, Freya, Nieth)- Female

 

Doraka (Thor, Ares, Tyr)- Male. The warrior archetype. He was born for war and to conquer

 

Fais (Isis, Frigga, Hera, Athena)- Female. The Magician!!!!

\+ (twins?)

Freyda (Freya, Hera, Nieth)- Female. The mother figure archetype. Freyda looks over all and seeks to nourish it. She is caring and doting, but her wrath is vengeful.

 

Gheyer (Hestia, Hiemdal, and Shu)- Female?

 

Hadke or Helset (Hades, Hel, Loki, and Set)- male

 

Hephtki (Loki and Vulcan)- Male. The forge god.

 

Hinshe (Hermes, Hiemdal, and Shu)- male

 

Heirshe

\+ (somehow connected?)

Heiresh

 

Sunun (sobeck, Njord, Nun)- Male.

 

Woadan (Zeus, Odin, Ra, Baldur)- Male. Leader of the Olympians though there is a reason certain legends emanate from him. He’s kind of a lady’s man. Or womanizer depending on who you’re talking to. He’s the archetype leader figure with a certain deplorable habit.

 

 

Creator

 

Each culture has an originator. A being who, by inexplicit means, fabricates all that is known in reality. Though there are many names the oldest beings in reality simply call him Creator or “Abba” (angels call him that)

creator/originator god types:

 

 

Yahweh- Jewish

 

Jesus-Jahova-Holy Spirit_ God

 

Allah - Islam

 

Amenominakanushi- "All father of the originating hub and "Heavenly Ancestral God of the Originating Heart of the Universe". Japanese

 

Bramha or Vishvakarman- Hindu

 

Popol Vuh - Mayan

 

Coatlicue- aztec

 

Ymir- Norse

 

Gaia- greek

 

Atum or Amun- Egypt

 

Mawu-Lisa or Nana-Buluku in the congo indigenous people. the "Fon" group

 

Cagn- in the south African indigenous people. the "San" group

 

 Gborogboro- in the Ugandan indigenous people

 

Mangala- in the Mali indigenous people. The "Mande" group

 

Mbombo or Bomba- in the central Africa/congo people. The "Kuba" group

 

Ngai- in the Kenya indigenous people. The "Rendille, Kamba, and Kikuyu" groups

 

Roog- in the Sengambia (senegal-gambia) indigenous people. the "Serer" group

 

Unkulunkulu- in the Bantu (south-central African around the lakes) indigenous people. the "Zulu" group

 

Olodumare-Eledumare-Olofi - in the Yorubaland indigenous people. the "Yoruba" group

 

Buga- in the eastern Siberian indigenous people. the "Tungusic" group

 

Gitche-Manitou - in the Algonquin/Mississaguas/Potawatomi/Oji-Cree/Ojibwa/Odawa. the "Anishinaabe" group

 

Awonawilona- in the Pueblo/New Mexico indigenous people. the "Zuni" group

 

Niłchʼi Diyin (Holy Wind) or the four Diyin Dineʼé (Holy People)- in the Pueblo/Utah/Arizona indigenous people. The Navajo group

 

Kuterastan- in the southern plains indigenous people of north America. the Kiowa Apache group.

 

Tawa- in the northwest Arizona indigenous people. the Hopi group

 

Esaugetuh Emissee- in the southeastern indigenous people of north America. the Creek or Muscogee group

 

Hwanin or Hwanung- in the Korean Dangun mythology.

 

 Cheonjiwang- in the Korean Jeju or jejudo island mythology

 

 Apsû (or Abzu) who represents fresh water and Tiamat representing oceanic waters- Babylonian mythology

 

An or Anu/Abzu or Tiamat- Sumerian/akkadian/Persian mythology

 

Ranginui and Papatuanuku are the primordial parents- Maori legend

 

Kāne is considered the highest of the four major deities, considered the creator- Hawaii


	5. Key Notes & Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations of things

Heavenly plane (Celestia): The residing place of the gods and things of good (although the definition tends to get stretched a little). It is not really ‘heaven’ but departed souls can go there after they leave their bodies.

 

Infernal Plane (Hell): Long ago, the demon lords and evil gods were cast into the infernal plane. An essential prison of a planet to serve out sentence for all eternity. Or die in the meantime. The surface is guarded by celestial warriors and guardians from before time. Any who attempt to break out of this prison physically are struck down on the spot. This is the actual hell, the place of torment, the eternal damnation, the lake of fire, Sheol, etc. (although there is a certain part in the center called the Inferno that is the ultimate destination of all who go there).

 

Thylodon (the battleground/neutral plane, also known as Tylon): The semi-peaceful set of worlds where demon lords and celestial gods commute from their natural planes, a sort of designated field of battle. This place is inhabited by other species (brought, breed, or created over centuries of war and manipulation between good and evil) and the celestials seek to smother the infernal influence it the place (not that it will help). The planet/plane of Thylodon is outside of normal time and space, residing somewhere in the same area of heaven and hell but no one knows exactly where (definitely not in between). As such time passes differently there and outside of the universes and planes concepts of time.

  * Moon: Undra- The First Born. First moon of Thylodon and the closest of the three. Appears in day or night. When on the horizon Undra always carries a pink tint to it.
  * Moon: Phylo- The Spinning One. Second moon of Thylodon and one that paves the way behind the “first two”. It weaves around Thylodon in an unreadable patter but always in the night sky as a silvery globe.
  * Moon: Yesha- The Orphaned Child. Third moon of Thylodon. The largest and furthest away of the three. Its mass is so great that it allows the moon to still influence tides of the seas of Thylodon. A great golden orb that often sits behind the other two but sometimes comes between Phylo and Undra.



 

Matterus (otherwise known as the material plane: aka everywhere else)

 

The Tynshagi: The unknown/unseen council who are rumored to have created the universe and several before it (they didn’t really but it’s an interesting thought). No one really knows about them at all, not even the Olympians or Demon Lords. To the few who have heard of the name believe them a myth or rumor rather than an elusive council that sits enthroned beyond time and space and thought. They are dragon-like entities that were given rule of the universe by the Creator himself before he gave himself for his creation. Each wields a different aspect, light, element, or fraction of existence. They watch over creation and hope to guide it to everlasting good.

 

Un-god (Anti-Deus, Non-Divine, etc.): Just as there was the Creator there was something entirely else. Something dark, the first evil. From this all chaos and disorder flowed into the universe. The Tynshagi once had a brother who sought the meaning of this and went to the planet, when he returned he was almost unstoppable and threatened to rip the fabric of the universe(s). He had been consumed by the paradox of the planet and become one with it. They locked him outside all relevancy as to keep him from erasing all realities and time, until the day a boy and a young man were pulled through the main character’s reality and into the dragon’s universe. (Both boy and man are absorbed into one <a boy body with a man mind> and made the avatar of the anti-god dragon <AKA the un- as in the undoing of everything etc.>). The Tynshagi lock the thing away but are unable to destroy it just like before. So they seal it inside the boy-man-dragon-avatar (he is bound to the planet and the dragon and gains powers of such). He is bound with keeping the paradox-dragon inside him and is offered a seat over the Tynshagi dragons (who watch over the eternity of the universes <Think Eastern religion>) but he is more of a wanderer than a watcher.

 

Scholi: Some think of him as a myth, a fabrication of rumor and fanciful thinking. After the Creator voluntarily ended his own existence he left Scholi to keep record of all things for all eternities and beyond. He is often depicted as a young, ordinary man amongst scrolls and books which write themselves. Scholi sits outside of time, space, even eternity. Power and creation are beholden unto him as he wields a mantle like that of the Creator himself and that of the Un-god. Occasionally he walks among mortals and immortals alike disguised as nothing but himself, no one is the wiser. For some odd reason he bears a striking resemblance to Immoradlus.

 

<\--      (Ascended Entities of Light) “True” gods and angels (Ashlazhae or Imiri)

Olympians (The Celestial gods): The Olympians are the combinations of most, if not all, the myths and legends of old. Most are good and fair, but there is a mischievous streak among a few of them. Some are married to each other while others have dalliances with mortals and immortals alike. Most are the eternal enemies of the Demon Lords but there are a few (Anubis and his wife) who respect some of the demon lords and those of the hellish circle. While it is presumed that they can die and be sent to the Creator’s bosom, there has been no eye witness accounting of it. Although it is presumed that Rhah (former leader of the Olympians before Woadan) was mortally wounded by Deluvius and a few of the other Demon Lords enough to send him back to the Creator (die, in a way).

 

Archangels: The highest level of angelic beings. Generals, chief messengers, sentinels, these guardians have watched over the universe (more specifically Hell and Thylodon) since the dawn of existence. They command all the angelic beings with surety and duty.

 

Seraphim: Close to the biblical description, these angelic like beings are the keepers of the light. They are not necessarily beholden unto the gods but follow them anyway. They answer the Archangels promptly, as they are the Archangel’s subservient.

 

Lesser gods or Nirihm: Not as powerful or as influential of things that are as the Olympians but still play certain roles. They are more akin to the Japanese gods, as they are only as powerful as the influence given to them by mortals or of the place they inhabit. In this way they can also be malevolent or born of strange origins at times.

 

Holy Beasts: Much like the ones mentioned in the Bible they are the guardians and observers of sacred rights and ceremony. They are keepers of order and peace and meditation and worship. Although they frown on rebellion to tradition they do not see it (very often at least) an incentive for punishment (a role they do often not carry out, by their hands or another’s).

 

Holy Guardians or Haqodeí (ha-ko-de-ee): Watchers over the heavenly places and planes. Rarely do they visit the mortal realm or any such thing. Specifically they are positioned to keep watch over hell and its convicts. They have enough power to smite most occupants of hell but fall short of the power of archangels and gods.

 

Demigods: Half-gods, third-gods, and what not. Related to a god and retaining enough of their power to remain high enough on the scale of things (those that are not are left to their own devices but honored when given the chance). They can be as diverse as their parents, and as benevolent or malevolent as the weather. It all depends on the person, and sometimes the parents.

 

Cherubim: See Bible. Guardians of the sacred places, objects, and people. These warriors keep an eye on whom/what the celestials shine favor on.

 

Sentinels or Hahnram: A higher and tougher breed of angel, paladins of the light are they. Noble, honest, true, and virtuous as any (Not to mention vicious in battle). These beings are slightly in charge of the angels under them, sort of the division or brigade commanders.

 

Angels or Zhyrim: Assorted soldiers of the heavens. These beings of light and holiness protect all that is good and right. They can be disguised as nearly anyone and work in mysterious ways. They answer to both the gods and the Archangels, but the latter’s word counts more. See Bible. (Angels choose gender, can alter if fallen)

 

Messengers or Malahk: Lowest ranked in the Divine services. They bear similar traits to angels but are little stronger than mortals. If they are not wary a mortal wizard or cruel sumoner could ensnare them for their beautiful looks and body.

 

 

\-->    (Baleful Beings of Darkness) “True” Demons (Zrlkch-Kshl)

Demon Lords (The Infernal gods): The most powerful of evil forces, period. They are pan-dimensional “True” demons that hold the highest rank, and are in all practicality gods of chaos and darkness. They are 13 in number with little specific hierarchy. Each has his (the title of Lilith is bestowed to a demoness who is found worthy by the old goddess to be her avatar as demon lady) own instrument (fiddle, flute, harp, guitar, drum, etc.) and way of doing things. Some are warlords, others are master manipulators. Very few of the demon lords are the originals. Those who have died by other hands and sent to the Inferno are replaced by the most apt (or if they had an heir/apprentice). As a rule, demon lords are incapable of physically killing each other and there are **very** few potions and mixtures that have the capability of even damaging them. Divine power and/or magic is a good way to go though. Each demon lord has a territory on Thylodon that they hold for themselves (the celestial gods allow them to keep their territory as long as they don’t mess with mortals too much). Cannot kill each other but can “weaken” each other to a point where a Celestial attack would surely send them to the Abyss.

 

Queens of Damnation: Titles given to certain demoness’ whose power almost rivals that of the demon lord’s in one way or another. Often they are married to Demon Lords, given as concubines, or live on their own while given a plot of domain to watch over and a title. Can be “weakened” like Demon Lords but vulnerable to Celestial attacks.

 

Princes(s) of hell: The lesser version of Demon Lords and often the offspring of them (hence the name). They are ¾ power of the Demon Lords and around twice the angst, but a few are as conniving as their superiors. Can be “weakened” like Demon Lords but vulnerable to Celestial attacks.

 

“Thrones” or Lieutenants: Commanders of a demon lord’s forces. They are the trusted few on whom the demon lords bestow rank themselves. Can kill each other.

 

Fallen Angels: Usually if an angel gives into evil they are stripped of their wings and let go, but some fall. These are true fallen angels, those that kept their wings and have been thrown from the celestial heights. They are quite powerful and often take up ranks in Hell, although they are despised by the demons for their nature. The first fallen angel was named Icarus. Rumor is that he was tempted by one of the first Lilith and grew crazed. He fell in a battle with his former comrades spouting love confessions for that most loathsome of demonesses.  (Angels choose gender, can alter if fallen)

 

Nephilim (Choice fighters): Mortals and other beings influenced by demonic power granted to them by demon lords. They are the demon lord’s individual groups of fighters, each worth his metal. Can kill each other.

 

Ifrit: Genie like demons of fire and air. The Ifrits are in a class of infernal Jinn noted for their strength and cunning. An ifrit is an enormous winged creature of fire, either male or female, who lives underground and frequents ruins. Ifrits live in a society structured along ancient Arab tribal lines, complete with kings, tribes and clans. They generally marry one another, but they can also marry humans. While ordinary weapons and forces have no power over them, they are susceptible to magic, which humans can use to kill them or to capture and enslave them. As with the jinn, an ifrit may be either a believer or an unbeliever, good or evil, but it is most often depicted as a wicked and ruthless being. Ifrit cannot exactly kill each other even though they can be killed by others. They can render each other into a weakened existence to where they have practically no power.

 

Incubus/Succubus: Tempters of mortal flesh, they are often seen as the lower ranked messengers of the Demon Lords or their higher ranked minions. Although they truly do not have a specified rank in the demon hordes. An incubus or succubus could have enough power to rival the Lieutenants of hell, or be nor more powerful than a regular demon. Those with more power can fight in the infernal armies, however lesser ones tend not to. Can kill each other but don’t really bother. They consider manipulation a better way of doing things than getting their own hands dirty.

 

The Belial (regular demons?): A-typical warriors of hell. What more needs to be said. Also, they can kill each other. Anybody besides the higher-ups can kill each other.

 

Implysh: ‘Imps’ as they are better known are the fodder and go-fors of the demon realm. They rarely breed on their own and are thought to be products of homunculi created by devils.

 

Cambion: “Child of Demons”, the offspring of a devil and a mortal. They are less powerful but some find their way back to their sires. Others shirk their heritage and try to make good of themselves.

 

Laocaon- Though known by a myriad of different names, this is just a broad term for demonic beings that have little power and no official ranking. They are the chaotic waste that accumulates in Hell. Simply spawning out of vacuous existence. What little intelligence they have is guided by animalistic instinct. Though they can do no harm to actual demons they can be quite the pests. Like any other animal they know when to submit to something that can obliterate them. As such they will follow a demon’s command or skirt out of the way as quickly as possible.

^

 

 

Regular Races- (most based of d&d races)

 

Dragons: the older and more pure, the more powerful. Some even rival the gods (tie in to wayfarer chronicles)

 

Theudra? (Illithids-Mindflayers and their various servants/subspecies): d&d. Considering all the other races the Theudra (mindflayers/illithids) just kind of . . . . . . . . .  happened. Yeah. Kind of the acumen of nightmares and horrors of the mortal mind. Or maybe a space faring squid people. Or even worse, accumulation of existence like the presence of demons and the like. Who knows at this point. Nobody knows exactly where they came from or why (If they do they aren’t telling).

  * Theudra (Mindflayer/illithid) or Snuffer (common)- The basic form of Theudra. Horrific beings of malevolent nature and immense psychic powers (bodies depend on host species). Theudra have a humanoid body with an octopus-like head (though the skull is left intact and serves somewhat like a squid’s shell). They have eight to ten tentacles around a lamprey-like mouth with additional beak-like teeth (self-sharpening), and require the brains of sentient creatures to survive though they have been known to sample other substances. An Theudra who snares a living creature completely in its tentacles can extract and devour its living brain. Their eyes are inky black, and they can see perfectly well in both darkness and light. Perhaps due to their underground nature the Theudra are good at discerning from what direction sounds came from, a sort of echo location. Their skin is commonly purple to gray or blue, usually covered in mucus or smooth like snakeskin, and tends to cake in sunlight until bloody lesions break out. One of the most feared aspects about the Theudra is their immense psychic or psionic abilities. Powers include psionic shields, powers of psionic domination for controlling the minds of others, and generally abilities telepathic/telekinetic in nature. The average Theudra is roughly 1.5 to 3.0 times stronger than the average human. However, that does not mean they occupy the same areas of strength. Since their bodies contain so little fat their forms are mostly bone, lithe muscle, and organs. All fat is never stored in the body and the energy as well as the nutrients are delivered directly to their brane. This makes the Theudra extremely quick and have unusually high levels of stamina (don’t ask on that last part). Where as an incredibly strong human would be able to lift or throw about more, a Theudra would be able to be able to carry something roughly the same weight twice as far or even move faster with given example object.
  * Ollmus <meaning originator or parent> (Elder Brain) or Mind Mass (common)- Masters of the Theudra. Every step the Theudra take is to further the wills of the Ollmus, their creators (more or less). The Ollmus resemble finless and eyeless cuttlefish with no organs save their comparably short tentacles and massive brains housed in squid-like shells. As with all Theudra, the Ollmus are psionics by nature but are veritable gods compared to their already powerful followers. The Ollmus are sustained by eating the brains of their followers, inheriting their psionic power and knowledge. They discard any individuality, personality, or inherent thing that makes one Theudra different from the last. Though this undermines the Theudra belief of immortality through oneness, the Ollmus keep it a secret between themselves. Upon receiving the dead Theudra (or Tallith) body into its cerebral pool the Ollmus breaks open the skull cavity with beak and devours the brain whole, often times dragging along spare spinal cord or other nerves along with it.
  * Tallith (Ulitharids) or Squid Snuffers (common)- The scions of the Theudra race and seen as superior beings by the Theudra. They serve as the second rank between the Theudra and Ollmus. Tallith have ten tentacles: two extra-long like a squid with patched feelers at the end, two of medium long length that serve as a sort of status marker, and six more of shorter length for regular matters. Unlike regular Theudra, Tallith only give one Threi back to the brine pools rather than the several dozen usually seen. This does not mean that the Threi itself will become Tallith but there is a strong connection between the two.
  * Threi or Larveen (common)- Theudra tadpoles or the adolescent stage spawned from the Theudra into the briny pools of the Ollmus. Instead of the Threi being taken out of the pool and inserted into the host, the host has their head plunged into the cerebral pool where there is a mad scramble by the Threi for the next stage of their existence.
  * Jhungliph (Neothelid) or Trans-Larveen (common)- And advanced stage where the Threi were not given a host and allowed to grow on their own. They become giant worm-like things with gaping maws of teeth and tentacles. Serving as the destructive wrath of the Theudra they are unleashed upon their enemies, being the vengeful sub-commanders in the Theudra army.
  * Rhonion (Urophion) or Brain Tree (common)- A corrupted tree given life then implanted with a Threi so that it becomes one. The result is an aberration that has the ability to look like most underground formations or foliage. It also bears the psychic abilities (though not as advanced) of the Theudra and tentacles laced with poisonous spines. The Rhonion serve as sentries to Theudra cities, lairs, and sepulchers.
  * Gholhim (Octopin) or Tantamass (common)- A tentacle construct formed of discarded Theudra corpses, specifically their tentacles. The mass is given a sort of intelligence and serves as basic foot soldiers for the Theudra.
  * Gholin (Nyraala Golem) or Takamass (common)- Second stage of evolution in the Gholhim life cycle. After reaching an age of 30 years a Gholhim either dies or evolves into a Gholin. Its form is more humanoid than that of the Gholhim, with an identifiable trunk and upper/lower body. But they are still a mass of tentacles and hideous to behold.
  * Ghrodlin (Mindwitness) or Thrad (common)- The final form of the Gholhim. After reaching 70 years most Gholin have died from use. Those that do not evolve into floating masses of writhing tentacles with significant psychic power, rivaling that of the Theudra. Howerver, they are still somewhat mindless and require instructions or basic orders. They can also serve as conduits for the Theudra to amplify their powers.
  * Shrlashi (Unchuulon) or Whispers (common)- Stryxz that have been implanted with a Threi. They are cunning beasts with a horrific appetite. They prowl the reaches of a Theudras territory and serve as their unseen scouts.
  * Neeth (Nerve Swimmers) or Leechers (common)- Threi that never reach maturity but have yet to be eaten/weeded out by the Ollmus. They are converted to hordes of smaller larvae like creatures that feed of
  * (Voidmind) or Deadmon (common)- Those whose minds are too far gone or have been consumed too much. They serve short lives for their Theudra masters, either as laborers or spies. Latter case being the work of Theudra manipulating them through psychic command implanted during rituals.
  * Azta (brain golem) or Brain Hunks (common)- Massive humanoid constructs of brain matter. These are little more than golems constructed of brains and not usually partaken as a food source save for desperate times. Most often they are used for menial labor and the occasional soldier in wartime.
  * Atz (Oortlings) or Mind Cattle (common)- Mutated humanoids that are forced to grow excess brain matter. In spite of this they remain docile and particularly mindless, serving as menial labor when not supplanting the Theudra’s dietary needs.



There are a few differences between what the mortals call Mindflayers and Theudra. Theudra typically have eight to ten (in the case of Tallith) instead of the four to six found on mindflayers. The Ollmus resemble finless and eyeless cuttlefish with no organs save their comparably short tentacles and massive brains housed in squid-like shells. They are able to move around in the brine they thrive in and have shorter tentacles than in most Elder Brain depictions. Any being constructed from a mature Threi larvae is treated with the same respect a Theudra is; the exceptions being the Tallith who are seen as above other Theudra. Instead of the Threi being taken out of the pool and inserted into the host, the host has their head plunged into the cerebral pool where there is a mad scramble by the Threi for the next stage of their existence. Unlike regular Theudra, Tallith only give one Threi back to the brine pools rather than the several dozen usually seen. This does not mean that the particular Threi itself will become Tallith but there is a strong connection between the two. All converted Theudra take on a lithe androgynous look in their “second life”. If they were female, their fat reserves (particularly breasts) shrink to nothingness and their womanhood become infertile (the urethra grows a tentacle so they may urinate while standing). Likewise, a male becomes fatless and skinny regardless of former build, and becomes infertile. Though only able to give Threi seed back to the Ollmus pools as means of reproduction, the Theudra have been known to take sick and sadistic fascination of copulating with slave thralls; or anything with which they could mock the mating habits of people. The average Theudra is roughly 1.5 to 3.0 times stronger than the average human. However, that does not mean they occupy the same areas of strength. Since their bodies contain so little fat their forms are mostly bone, lithe muscle, and organs. This makes the Theudra extremely quick and have unusually high levels of stamina (don’t ask on that last part). Where as an incredibly strong human would be able to lift or throw about more, a Theudra would be able to be able to carry something roughly the same weight twice as far or even move faster with given example object.

The Theudra worship no god or goddess, but consider the Ollmus their end and beginning. Cycle of birth, change, death, and rebirth is their tradition and their religion. Even though they don’t realize Ollmus take only power and basic knowledge from their dead instead of their individuality, the Theudra still believe that they will attain some sort of oneness with the Ollmus. As custom in this ritual, the Theudra cut off the tentacles of the deceased so they are likened to the image of the Ollmus.

As a race, the ultimate goal of the Theudra is to reach immortality. Not individually but as a race. It would mean that they could propagate and thrive beyond the extent of space/time as they perceive it. However, their individual selfishness and general ideology of backstabbing can be a dampener on said goal.

 

Humans: yep. Can live up to 200 years but most live an average of 100. Races have divided a little. The blacks (Afrikaz) now hold some domination over the whites (Caukasiaz) in certain regions. The Asiak (Aizaks? Azaks?) (Asians), Pershian (middle eastern), Vakizo (Hispanic <all south america>), Nordmon or Fjorden (northern Europeans), and (native americans) all have differences and alliances. Though no single one bears such a grudge as the odd back and forth between the blacks and whites, no one can remember why though.

 

Half-Celestials: The sired child of any divine entity on the side of good, whether they be angel or god or Holy Beast

 

Elves (general- Elsadyrin): Cylest (Common or High elves), Fiyre (wood elves, because of their fae influence?), Dyrrhin? (dark elf-drow), Dyre (driders), half-elves, etc. Originally created by the celestials and their Olympian lords, elves wield magic and other things. They were first a strictly Tylon created race but since have been placed in other planes and dimensions. Elves have also fallen into the darker times. Like any other mortal (though they tend to have exceedingly long lives<around 1,000 years thought some have been known to live a few centuries longer. Their bodies do age regularly, they only mature and will remain “pretty” a while after death.> ) race they are susceptible to chaos and corruption. Dyrrhin or dark elves and their Dyre (drider) counterparts are a perfect example.

 

Dwarves: Came after elves and has always been a hard spot for them. They were never the less created same as the elves. Superior craftsmen and warriors, their work even rivals the lesser gods. Which is one of the many reason for their creation. With dwarves on their side the bastions of goodness stand firm against the demon hordes and their dark allies. Dwarves live around 800 years but few have been known to live longer than elves born of the same year. Perhaps out of sheer stubbornness.

 

Gnomes- An offshoot race from the dwarfs, the gnomes are tricky and tinker rather than build. They tend to be mischievous and most times in tune with the nature around them. While dwarves have an affinity to the “Gia aspect” Gnomes deal more with things that grow out of the ground and live in it.

 

Halflings (hobbits): Called Halflings because they are in perspective half of a human person. They are more human than they care to admit.

 

Lamia: descendants or offspring of various Lilith’s over the millennia. Some are good, others are evil. It really depends. All share some form of snake characteristic depending on how pureblooded they are. (can reproduce amongst themselves though they are almost universally female in gender, something to do with additional reproductive organs)

 

Giants: Rampaging machines of destruction that were an experimental mix of demonic and fae ancestry. The results were a success depending on who you talk to. Living no more than 200 years, Giants are mountains of fury when angered. Each capable of enormous strength. Though varying in height and girth, each towers over the average being, even their descendants. They are not slow in thought so much as they are deep thinkers if put up to it. Taking time to discern a thing.

 

Ogres: Mean sons of bitches, these were the Infernal descendants of Giants (though not by wanted means as the massive men lay with their half-demon ancestors). And while they maintained most of the giant’s strength they also inherited a singular ability to heal from almost any wound. Living to no more than 40 years old when their regenerative ability finally gives out, Ogres are hard to kill. They also have an affinity for magic, perhaps something passed down from their Cambion ancestors. Ogre mages or shamans are treacherous as they combine lethal combative ability with deadly magical arts. They are by no mean dumb but the blood rushing through their veins often urges them into a lust for circumstance a fool would avoid. 

 

Goblins: Assorted. Can be like LOR or d&d or like HGG (hot goblin girls by paul lucas). Tribal beings created by the Infernal gods known as the Demon Lords. They are the descendants of Half-demons (Cambions) and Ogres though not directly birthed from them. Some have been known to be created from the Demon Lord’s sheer will to amass an army. Goblins have an unusually long lifespan (around 175 years) that is accentuated by their rapid rate of reproduction (this only applies if it is with another goblin). Scrappy and able to live in the worst of conditions, these humanoid cockroaches live on the frontiers of societies as no self-respecting person would allow a Goblin, let alone a civilized one, near their abode. Though once under the control of the Demon Lords, the Goblins have grown apart from their demonic ancestry. They still sometimes worship the Infernal Gods but also worship the Celestials as well, depending on which way the wind shifts. Goblins are usually short in stature but not broad like Dwarves. They are lithe like Gnomes yet sometimes pudgy like Halflings. They have green, grey, brown, or some other color of skin. Never any shade of pink or red. And they have three fingers and a thumb instead of four like humans. Though humanoid, Goblins do not in fact strictly follow humanoid genetic. Their innards may be as different colors as their skins (one was recorded as having a mouth the color of silver and was promptly killed by his brethren to make sure it was not in fact true silver). Over many years (and mutated creations) the Goblins have developed . . . strange sleeves along their innards. Whether this be in their mouth, throat, stomach, intestines, rectum, anus, colon, vagina, or urethra. These sleeves or pouches are strange to other mortal races as the only other known beings to have them are demons, specifically Succubi and Incubi. They work in a complex muscle network that Goblins reportedly are able to use as easily as a human moves their fingers. These sleeves can hold any number of small items, most of which would feel uncomfortable to most but the Goblins seem more than comfortable in carrying inside themselves. The most number of sleeves recorded was by a certain circus performer by the name of Jkradyn the Bosting. A total of ten all along the insides of his body including parts no sane person would inspect.

Gabul- language of the goblins.

Galic- trade language and most times considered the ‘high tongue’ of the goblins since those that speak it are considered by outsiders to be of ‘higher intelligence’ than those to not.

 

Orcs: d&d/WOW. Sired by Goblins and their Cambion predecessors, Orcs are a strange double standard. At times they can be as brutal as their Ogre ancestors. At other times they can be more civilized than most men (but never as civilized as elves). In whatever they do they are passionate, be it making love to a husband/wife claimed in a raid or tenderly nursing the child born of such an act. Fighting for the rush of battle or defending the rights of their people in an oration of argument. Most tribes have stuck to their wild upbringings (though not always their Infernal gods) to live amongst the wilds, but some have taken to the life of living around civilization. However, the idea to stick together as a tribe is still a large part of their culture if not their instinct.

 

Trolls: WOW, sort of but have more brutal sides like d&d. An offshoot of Goblins that, like the Orcs, are taller than their predecessors but carry the lithe bodily traits of the Goblins. Unlike Goblins, however, Trolls have five fingers rather than four. They also have the quick movements and wild appetites of the Goblins yet lack the combined animalistic cunning with sharp intellect the Goblins have (despite their savage orgins). They instead make do with a ‘if first no success try blowing it up again’ tactic (has been refined over several centuries of dead trolls).

 

Gnoll

 

Minotaur

 

Kobold: No one really knows where the Kobolds came from though some postulate they were a mistaken mix between a Goblin and some sort of Were-reptile. They are more akin to Gnomes in lifestyle but tend to shirk tinkering and substitute it with stealing. In this way they are more like Goblins. But the argument has been going on like this for at least twelve centuries.

 

Centaurs (and taurs in general?):

 

Satyrs: Some say the offspring of a couple blessed by fey. Others say they are the mischievous works of demons.

 

Fairies: small winged and non-winged magical folk.

 

Spree: a certain type of fairy but entirely different. Nobody really knows why but the two seem to differ from each other on a personal level, although any non-fae have always been unable to tell the difference.

 

Ulruth or <more commonly> Werez (Weres and stuff): (I can’t quite settle on if were are actually a race or a thing that happens to other races. Or both. Still can’t decide.). Werewolf, weretiger, wererat, wereotter, were hyena, werebat, (et cetera and so on). An odd mixing of half-Celestial and Fae blood.

 

Half-Werez: Basically, a variety of humans with animal features (bunny girls, cat boys, etc.) that were born out of unions between full blooded weres and regular species (humans, elves, gnomes, dwarves, whatever). They have slightly more magical inclination than their full-blooded relatives.

 

 

Sprite- humanoid like fairies that are of a specific nature (dryads, nyads, etc.)

 

 

/> (aberrations and various species, sentient and non)

 

Vampire or Vampiyr-

 

Nightwish- infernal type of ghost/banshee that only manifests in Hell or areas of demonic influence.

 

Hellwraiths- There was another word for them but this is the most straightforward name. And apt one too.

 

Garbock- Tentacled, anemone creature that often captures prey who enter caves and breeds them (can be male or female). Once the eggs hatch in three weeks the newborns consume the internal organs (and only the internal organs) for nutrients. They usually cluster in packs to increase chances of breeding and the capture of prey.

 

Stryxz- An estranged combination of arachnid and centipede. Some say that larger versions used to guard the river Styx and that’s where they got their names but it is not known. Not only do they have poison fangs but the webs of certain sub-species can be poisonous as well (in certain ways/places).

 

Embyrwi- an eel like parasite that cleans out the bowels of beings. It’s slime is a lubricant mixed with a powerful aphrodisiac that can only be used between the parasite and host (removed mucus is just mucus, although it does make good lube). It is unknown how they reproduce but their population never seems to become overwhelming. Aside from being pleasurable to the point of insanity and the complete/permanent cleaning of the bowels, they are a completely harmless species.

 

Firehound or Frn-Hnd(?) – A reptilian animal of medium to large size. Like a bat in shape it has wings and large upper body. The lower body is smaller with diminutive, clawed back legs. A large head on an almost nonexistent neck adorns the beast’s shoulders. The huge mouth is either breathing fire or embers or smoke, and large jaw expands halfway back to its neck.

 

Bolgun – A new species of bovines cultivated only on Tylon. They are larger and more aggressive than regular bovines, and are exclusively male in gender. They can be identified by their larger than average bodies and their famous onyx horns. Though they have extremely tempers locals have taken all efforts to domesticate them because of the prize meat they have.


	6. Things

Heavenly plane (Celestia): The residing place of the gods and things of good (although the definition tends to get stretched a little). It is not really ‘heaven’ but departed souls can go there after they leave their bodies.

 

Infernal Plane (Hell): Long ago, the demon lords and evil gods were cast into the infernal plane. An essential prison of a planet to serve out sentence for all eternity. Or die in the meantime. The surface is guarded by celestial warriors and guardians from before time. Any who attempt to break out of this prison physically are struck down on the spot. This is the actual hell, the place of torment, the eternal damnation, the lake of fire, Sheol, etc. (although there is a certain part in the center called the Inferno that is the ultimate destination of all who go there).

 

Thylodon (the battleground/neutral plane, also known as Tylon): The semi-peaceful set of worlds where demon lords and celestial gods commute from their natural planes, a sort of designated field of battle. This place is inhabited by other species (brought, breed, or created over centuries of war and manipulation between good and evil) and the celestials seek to smother the infernal influence it the place (not that it will help). The planet/plane of Thylodon is outside of normal time and space, residing somewhere in the same area of heaven and hell but no one knows exactly where (definitely not in between). As such time passes differently there and outside of the universes and planes concepts of time.

 

Matterus (otherwise known as the material plane: aka everywhere else)

 

Celestial dialects-

  * Eklotian- common celestial dialect
  * Elutian- military language of the celestials
  * Alustian- high tongue of the heavens
  * Mayalvke- worshiping language
  * Tshyhi- an old language that is thought to have original been spoken by the creator itself. Has never been fully translated.



 

Infernal dialects-

  * Bíalian- common infernal tongue
  * Ypm- language of the imps and lesser beings
  * Nephtlet- the military language used by most demons not of higher court
  * Lundruc- language of royal courts of hell (if there is such a thing)
  * Tskuva- words of the old ones. Not an easy language to master. It is said to contain powers of its own.



 

 

Random Languages:

  * Aenglisch- The maintained form of English. It has it’s dialects and new words but it largely remains the same.
  * Oods- What used to be considered English has split into several offshoots one of which is called oods (woods without the w)
  * Nark- Trade language shared along the Eastern Lands (where D-b resides?), specifically in the regions near the coast.
  * Srum-sh-rhu – Language of the trees
  * Gabul- language of the goblins.
  * Galic- trade language and most times considered the ‘high tongue’ of the goblins since those that speak it are considered by outsiders to be of ‘higher intelligence’ than those to not.



 

 

 

Black-Wisp: Pure dark magic, the fiber of the ether itself so to speak. Pure, unrefined negative wisps of energy that can be congealed to form smoke. It sometimes used as a smoking medium amongst the demons, though even they sometimes cannot withstand its potency.

 

Moonstone- A particular soft, crystalline stone that glows blue. While the brilliance of the Moonstone is not sharp it blows away the darkness effectively, and the stones themselves also produce a small amount of warmth. The stone has been reported to glow during daylight hours and then cease during the night, and vice versa. Sometimes it glows all the time. The particular reasons for this are unknown but it is an extremely precious resource for subterranean communities.

 

Amlethyt- Trees whose trunks are made of grey stone and the fruits they bear are great amethyst like opals.

 

Daysman- aka an umpire.


	7. Ideas/Explanations

Each plane (and sometimes even individual dimensions) have various magical manifestations. The main ones being Aether, Ether, and Mana. There are variations and other outlets/inlets of power that can be manifested into magic or magic-like abilities but these are the main three. (Tylon has all three of them)

 

Dominika- dimension

Pylun- plane

Exortas- existence

Exodax- eternity

 

While love is not a main cause for sinning it is a wobbling balance between good and evil. One slip can delve too far into darkness and the people involved will be sucked in. That is why the Bible specifically prohibits some things.

 

The recycling of souls is pretty karmic. Souls that have been judged good for some odds or another are brought to the realm of the Olympians where they can either pass on and be reincarnated (cannot really be reincarnated as anything other than what you were before) after a while in heaven or stay and help ‘fight the good fight’ all they can. After a while, some souls who stay long enough in the realm of the Olympians they become angels themselves.

Just in the same was when bad or evil souls are condemned to hell they are the toys of the Demon Lords and serve as their tortured pets for a time weighed by their sins before being sent (to the Abyss?) back into reality. After spending some time with true evil they are reincarnated to try again. If they are not willing to give up their darkness they often become part of the darkness themselves. Either becoming a demon or some other beast of evil.

 

The cost of casting the spell (which spell? What type? Resurection?): the memory and physical remembrance/copy of the spell is lost. In order to cast the spell again, the spell caster must find the spell and write it down once again.

 

One does not simply bend flora, or earth for that matter, to their will. See it as picking up a giant boulder with only yourself and a few tools. You have to get a feel for it. Otherwise if you try to force it, you will wind up hurt. This is one of the reasons there are separate echelons of druids and mages. Mages such as wizards, witches, sorcerers, etc. CAN wield wild/terrain centered magic but not as well as druids. For druids, it is their life to understand and co-inhabit alongside all the other species who make the forests, plains, deserts, and other environs their home. This may include any number of fae, magical and non-magical creatures, as well as certain wild or naturally inclined/solitary races such as Goblins or Elves. As such, Druids often have a great understanding and control of Aether, Ether, and Mana.  

 

types of gods: Universal gods- those that do not particularly rely on human worship and exemplify everything as well as underlying factors seen through out many gods or beliefs. Odin and Zeus for instance. Or Ra and Amaterasu.

Bound gods?- those formed over time to a singular thing by their worshipers. They are bent to the particular purpose mortals assigned to them and one could say that they are formed of mass human psyche. Inanimate objects not directly worshiped as gods, such as money, do not count.

Lesser gods- those that were formed of individual groups and built on their belief.

Demi-gods - those born half god and half mortal. sucks to be these guys.

 

 

Levels of power:

Divine- This is most if not all the Olympians as well as the Demon Lords and Tynshagi. There are a few individuals, such as the Scholi and Immoraldus, that have come into this power on their own though how or why is unknown. Any vestige of the predecessors, the first gods and goddesses whether good or bad, have been erased or sealed away.

Cosmic- This is the domain of other Universal gods, the ones that are celestial but not the Olympians themselves? They are never the less a force to be reckoned with. Angels and demons of original intent have this level of power but never particularly demonstrate it.

Dimensional/Planar- Any god or high ranked demon not from Hell but from one of the lesser affinities can attain this level of power. Even high ranked mortals. Dragons are said to reach this type of power with time and seemed to be indifferent about the matter.

Universal- Often seen as the limit to where mortals can attain in levels of power. Others such as lesser deities (though more often it is bound deities), demons, and celestial beings have this level of power if they are high ranked enough

Galactic- Middle to high ranked non-original demons, demi-gods, lesser and some bound gods, lesser celestial powers, and mortals if they live long enough. Mortals who align themselves with a certain affinity or party are often granted a power boost to get to this level. Others are marked from birth to achieve this level of power.

Planetary- Everything that can go on or in a planet is planetary level power and below. This is the common place of mortals. Lesser demons, lowest celestial beings, certain powers, etc.


End file.
